A Mother's Love xx Going Grey
by Kiristeen
Summary: There was far more to Lily's sacrifice than anyone knew.  An attack on an all but abandoned Privet Drive reveals secrets long kept hidden. 1st in the "Going Grey" series. More inside.  1st 5 episodes in series complete in rough .
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** A Mother's Sacrifice - Episode One in Going Grey  
**Author:** Kiristeen ke Alaya  
**genre:** Harry Potter  
**Series:** Going Grey  
**Pairings:** See author's note. In this Episode **none**. In the "Going Grey" Series **Canon to start. HG/SS, HP/LM, DM/?, RW/? ** Highlight if you absolutely _must_ know.  
**Series Warnings:** Slash and Het. Semi-dark but not evil Harry. Powerful, independent Harry (not outrageously superpowered) Violence, adult and sexual situations.  
**Series Rating:** R  
**Episode Warnings:** Angst, minor violence, abandonment  
**Episode Rating:** PG-13

**Setting:** Directly after 5th year. AU as of books 6 and 7, though, I may or may not take biographical information from either or both books.

**Episode Summary:** There was far more to Lily's sacrifice than anyone knew. An attack on an all but abandoned Privet Drive reveals secrets long kept hidden.  
**Series Summary:** Harry's life is one disaster after another, and he's simply surviving, reacting as events unfold. After one too many changes, Harry grabs hold of his life and his destiny, and for the first time in his life begins to control what's happening to him, instead of letting it control him.  
**AN:** I'd like to keep the pairings secret until revealed. I will say this much; Harry, Hermione, Ron all start out canon - it just doesn't stay that way. Will contain both slash and het pairings. Any explicit scenes (later in the series - they're not of age in the beginning) will be posted elsewhere, and I'll notify in the chapter headers that the scene here on fanfictiondotnet has been edited for sexual content, and where to find the unedited version should you so desire.

**AN2:** The second scene in this chapter has become a bit cliche in the HP fandom, LOL, but hang with it, if you would. and I think you'll find the story doesn't stay that way long. : ) ~

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**Chapter One**  
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Lucius paced as he waited to be called. He expected it any minute, and had his white mask shrunk in his pocket, waiting. Truthfully, he'd expected to be called long before now. He'd contacted that rat Pettigrew the moment he'd arrived home after managing to free himself from Ministry clutches, and that had been hours ago. He frowned, downing the last of his brandy. Preventing a long stay in Azkaban - or worse - had cost him far more - in both cash and favors, this time - than it had the first time, and he knew he dared not be caught again. If he got caught a third time, he doubted any amount of money or favors would get him free. Not even Fudge was stupid enough to fall for the same line three times.

He winced as his arm finally burned. Ready, he transfigured his current robes into the appropriate, hooded ones and strode into the apparation room - the only room in the house that could be apparated to or from. He was not looking forward to this meeting. He had failed the dark lord. It didn't matter that it hadn't been his fault. He'd been lead wizard on the mission and that _made_ it his fault - at least in the dark lord's mind. He snorted inelegantly, shaking his head. He had long since stopped trying to figure out just why he remained loyal to the dark lord. It was more than the fact that his and his family's safety was at risk, otherwise; though, that was definitely a factor. It wasn't because the wizard was actually effective, because he wasn't, not since that Potter boy defeated him the first time. Lastly, it _certainly_ wasn't because he was fond of experiencing the cruciatus.

He sighed and apparated, following the call of the mark. The moment he appeared, he secured his mask in place and strode forward, none of his worries or insecurities allowed to surface. Such things were dangerous in the dark lord's presence. Tonight, apparently, the dark lord was residing at Riddle manor. Lucius curled his lip in disgust. Riddle Manor was a run down, filthy wreck, and he hated being forced to attend the dark lord here. He shoved that thought aside, too, as he entered the manor, slowing only long enough for a cringing house elf to inform him that the dark lord was in his usual place - euphemistically known as the 'throne room'.

He was reminded why he had remained loyal the moment he stepped inside the room, just as he always did at this moment. The wizard had power and presence that superceded his altered appearance and overall cruel demeanor. It demanded subservience, submission from those around him. Lucius had given in to that demand over twenty years ago and until recently, hadn't looked back. He was cursing the family curse as much now, however, as he had been blessing it back when he'd first realized he considered Lord Voldemort to have far more power potential than Albus Bloody Dumbledore. In his seventh year, he'd been relieved when the curse had drawn him to the dark lord, a man who espoused everything he'd been brought up to believe. He'd been beyond grateful to be able to _finally_ be able to work towards his own personal vision for the wizarding world. It had been more than the curse, however. He had always been personally drawn to power, even before he was old enough to be affected by the curse. Now, though, he simply wanted away from the wizard gone insane; something he knew would never happen.

He sighed deeply as he realized that he was going to have to speak to Draco about the curse soon. Things were coming to a head and the dark lord would want to mark his son. Draco would need heads up, so he knew what his choices were. Not that the boy would have many. There simply weren't any wizards around who _had_ more power than the dark lord - unless, of course, they were staying far from the conflict. Something that was entirely possible, he conceded silently.

He knelt before his lord, bowing deeply, setting aside all his concerns and concentrating solely on the wizard that controlled whether he lived or died. That was the only way he was going to make it through this evening alive. "My Lord," he greeted respectfully.

x-x-x

Harry sat in the back seat of his uncle's car, sullenly brooding, his things beside him on the seat. He was to be completely cut off this summer, according to Professor Dumbledore. The headmaster had even kept Hedwig at the school. Apparently, it was too dangerous for her to even be _seen_ in Little Whinging. While he did appreciate that Hedwig would receive better care where she was; he would miss her terribly. She was his only solace each summer.

"Harry, I'm truly sorry," the headmaster repeated, but Harry didn't really care. He was beyond caring at this point. He was simply too confused and angry to care that the old man was 'sorry' for what he was doing. He was _still_ doing it. Surely, there was a better way. "We've even had to remove the order guard we normally keep around your home."

Harry blinked in shock. _What?_ Harry didn't _like_ being watched all summer, but even he had to admit it it helped him to feel safer - from the dark lord, anyway.

"It's simply too much of a clue as to where you reside. The blood wards will protect you, as long as you stay inside them."

Harry glared, not liking where this was headed. Surely the headmaster wasn't telling him he couldn't even leave the house!

"I must ask you not to leave the property at all this summer."

He was!

"It is imperative that you listen to me, Harry. The order will not be there to protect you if you leave the wards. You _must_ stay inside them at all costs."

Harry clenched his jaw, but didn't do any of the things he really wanted to do. He didn't growl. He didn't jump or shout. He didn't do anything at all. He just sat there, staring.

"Are you hearing me, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry ground out, "I hear you."

"Excellent," the headmaster said. "Then, I'll just let you go, so you can spend the remainder of the evening with your friends." As Harry hurried out of the headmaster's office, he had never been more tempted to use all the foul words he'd heard Dudley and his gang spew out over the years. He suspected it would feel really good right about then.

Now, more than ever, Harry was grateful that his curiosity about his family had led him to scour his Gringotts vault for anything and everything relating to his family. He hadn't found what he had initially gone looking for, but had not left the vault empty handed. The moment he turned 17, he was gone from the Dursley's. He even had a home to go to. He, however, didn't fancy being listed as a runaway. He had no clue how that would be handled in the wizarding world and he certainly had no desire to be declared a ward of the state - _that_ would be worse, even, than staying. The Dursleys likely wouldn't care, he knew; would be glad to be rid of him, in fact. Unfortunately, the headmaster would care, which made it impossible to go this year - much as the idea appealed. He just wished-

Rage suddenly boiled inside Harry, and he wasn't altogether certain that he didn't actually _hate_ the headmaster right at that moment in time. So many problems could be traced back to that man. Harry snorted mentally, not daring to do so out loud. It wasn't that he didn't accept a full share of responsibility for his godfather's death; there was certainly more than enough blame to go around. There was certainly enough to spread the wealth and not short himself in the slightest. It was no one person's fault that his godfather had died. It was, rather, a group effort. They could not have done a better job if they had all set out to purposely kill the man, and _that_ was what made Harry wish, with every fiber of his being, that he could relive his fifth year at Hogwarts - even taking Umbridge into account. Disaster could have been averted so very easily if just one little thing had changed, just one.

A comedy of errors; that's what it was, he thought sullenly, or it would be if the situation was at all funny. To begin with, there was his own need to simply _know_, his inability to believe that the adults around him could take care of the problem; would even believe there _was_ a problem. Of course, the headmaster had not helped that viewpoint with his constant avoidance of his presence, as well as of giving Harry any kind of answers. Simply telling Harry the possible repercussions if he failed to learn occlumency would have had him trying far harder to learn the discipline - in spite of Snape. He would have devoted nearly every free moment he had to it. Add to that, he was completely and utterly certain that Snape had not been trying very hard either - beyond trying his damndest to make Harry miserable. Even Umbridge had contributed her share to the mess. Even if Snape had actually believed him - who else could have called the order after them, after all? - he couldn't have let him know that with Umbridge right there, simpering at them. And _Kreecher_! That vile excuse for a house elf had _lied_ to him, lied about his godfather's whereabouts!

Even now, Harry could still see the consequences of all their actions. He could picture his godfather falling into the veil following a stunning spell by Bellatrix Lestrange; A **stunner**. Stunning spells weren't supposed to kill! That's why the were called _stunners_! They were supposed to _stun_! Tears filled his eyes; though, he refused to let them fall. He was _not_ about to give his uncle something new to taunt him with. Tears could, _would_, wait until he reached his room. Instead, he continued his silence, staring out the window at everything and nothing, letting his mind race.

Letting himself fantasize, he almost smirked as he pictured leaving the Dursley's. It certainly wasn't the first time he'd done it. Knowing it was going to happen eventually was the only thing that made life at their home even remotely bareable. In his better moods, he simply told them he was leaving and walked out the door, chin raised, his head held high and proud. This wasn't one of his better moods. The mood he was in now had him envisioning all sorts of nifty little jinxes he could use to get some well-deserved, petty revenge. He almost snorted, only just stopping himself from doing so. Dudley would look like a human-pig hybrid before he left. Uncle Vernon would look like a rhino, complete with garishly pink horn sticking up from the bridge of his nose - or maybe his forehead. Aunt Petunia would look even more like a horse than she already did.

He sighed wistfully. It was certainly nice to daydream, he thought, knowing full well that he would never risk ministry involvement by doing any of it. If he were completely honest with himself, he knew that however good it might feel at the time, actually doing it would make him feel no better than Dudley or Malfoy. _Of course,_ he smirked mentally, _locking Malfoy and Dudley in together might be fun to watch._ He'd just have to make sure the ferret was without a wand first.

By the time they pulled into the driveway and his uncle pulled the car to a stop, Harry had only figured out one thing. The only way he could honor his godfather's death was to not let it be in vain. He would learn occlumency if it bloody well killed him. He'd learn it. He'd train to fight. _Then_, he would go after Voldemort!

"Get your things and get out!" Uncle Vernon snapped angrily.

Startled out of his thoughts of vengeance, Harry whipped his head around and stared at his uncle in shock for only a few seconds before scrambling out of the car, dragging his things out behind him.

The moment he had shut the door, his uncle sneered at him. "Petunia will be by in two weeks to check up on you and the house, boy," he hissed. "You just make sure the house and the yard are in good condition when she does, or you'll regret it!"

"But-"

His uncle didn't stay to listen to Harry's protest, backing out of the driveway in a squeal of tires.

Harry could only stare dumbfounded as his uncle drove away, leaving him standing alone. As his uncle drove out of sight, however, the corner of his mouth twitched upward. So, they had decided to go on an extended vacation without him? He shrugged. It was not like it was the first time; although, it was the first time he'd been left by himself. Usually, they sent him to Mrs. Figg.

An entire summer without the Dursleys - well mostly - it was a bloody dream come true! Shaking his head in bemusement, his mood much better than it had been, he dragged his belongings into the house. He only made it as far as the front room, however, before he stopped cold, staring around him in shocked disbelief. Utterly numb, Harry dropped his belongings and sank to the floor. It was completely and utterly unreal. They weren't on some extended vacation. They were _gone_.

He had no clue how long he sat there, numb and blank, but eventually he blinked, his eyes scanning the disconcertingly bare room. A thick layer of dust covered all the horizontal surfaces, making them a uniform grey. He snorted; though, the sound was completely without any humor. How long had they been gone? Judging by the amount of dust, it had been months. Rising slowly, he let his gaze travel over the mantle above the fireplace. Not a trace remained of where the nick-nacks and pictures usually sat - not that he had really expected there to be. When the Dursley's had been here, dust had _not_ been allowed. He should know, he'd certainly spent enough time over the years dusting. His aunt had regarded the least speck of dust as a personal affront to her, and had taken it out on Harry if he didn't make sure there was never any present.

The dining room floor, also covered in an equal amount of dust, got pretty much ignored, his eyes sliding past it to the kitchen entrance. The floor there, too, was covered. He completed his survey, his eyes landing on the dust covered banister. Hell! Even the phone was covered in the stuff.

_Phone!_

Harry dove for the phone, snatching the receiver up from its cradle, then slumped.

_No dial tone,_ he thought despondently. _Mrs. Figg!_

Jumping to his feet, Harry tore out the front door and sprinted toward the neighbor's house, barely noticing the twilight of sunset; though, he did figure out he must have sat stunned for far longer than he'd realized. Skidding to a halt at her door, he knocked frantically, only just holding himself back from pounding. Heart beating almost painfully in his chest, panting slightly, he waited. There was no answer. He frowned in consternation. She was usually home this time of day. Mrs. Figg always did her shopping and visiting early on, before lunch. She spent the afternoon and evening tending her garden and her cats. Turning, intending on returning home, it was then he saw the 'for sale' sign prominently displayed on the front yard.

_Mrs. Figg is gone too?_

Harry gulped. While a summer without the Dursleys hanging around had seemed exciting and fun, being _completely_ alone was something else entirely, and he couldn't quite stem the panic that bloomed in his chest. He had no way of contacting anyone in an emergency. Looking around nervously, the growing shadows now seemed ominous, able to hide anything . . . or anyone. He took off at a dead run, the only thing on his mind, getting home where it was supposedly safe.

He didn't stop until the door slammed behind him. Slumping against it in a mixture of relief and still growing dread, Harry closed his eyes and tried to figure out what to do. He could, of course, hitch a ride on the knight bus. He'd certainly done it before. At least in the wizarding world he had money - and people to help him.

He blanched, suddenly staightening up from his slouch against the door. A new purpose to his movements, he strode to the kitchen, making a beeline for the fridge. The light didn't turn on as he jerked it open, revealing a darkened and very empty space. His frown deepening, he spun around and began opening cupboard after cupboard, one after the other completely empty. The sixth one he opened wasn't; though, it didn't contain much. Half a shelf was filled with a few canned goods; some condensed soup, beans, peas, and corn, along with a single loaf of bread. They'd even left him a can opener, surprisingly enough.

He relaxed a bit. He had a couple of days to figure things out, before he got truly desperate enough to _crawl_ back to Dumbledore. He was still unhappy enough with that man right now that going to him for help was not sitting well at all. In fact, it felt more like the ultimate humiliation. He wouldn't do it, he decided firmly. He could get through this on his own. The blood wards only needed-

_The blood wards!_

Harry blanched again, suddenly feeling very light headed. He leaned over, bracing his hands on his knees. How long _had_ his relatives been gone? Had it been long enough to weaken, or Merlin forbid, break the wards completely? Panic swamped him as he realized he had absolutely no way to check. As far as he knew, he could be completely safe here, still, or he could be a sitting duck! The moment he could move and be relatively certain he wasn't going to pass out, he darted toward his trunk, desperate to get to his wand.

He slid to his knees in front of his school trunk and fumbled with the lid, jumping and letting out a startled yelp when the front door blew open. He scrambled backwards, just managing to grab hold of his wand beforehand.

_Well, there goes my Hogwarts schooling!_ Harry thought bitterly as he raised his wand, leaping to his feet. The precious seconds he took to regain his feet cost him dearly. He didn't even get a chance to use his wand.

"Crucio!"

Harry screamed, falling back to the floor as his body arched and convulsed under the extreme pain of the unforgiveable. It couldn't have been kept on him for more than a few seconds - though, it seemed like forever - before the second white-masked intruder pushed the other's wand hand, forcing a stop to the debilitating spell.

Harry's rage and fear exploded and he saw red. To his startlement, before he could consciously react and pull his wand up again, the deatheater that had cursed him went flying backward, impacting the wall by the door.

"Expelliarmus!" he snapped, wand pointed directly at the second deatheater.

The deatheater neatly dodged the spell. "Stupify!"

Still on the floor, Harry tried to roll out of the way of the hex, but wasn't fast enough and the world went black around him.

_I'm dead,_ was the thought that followed him down, certain that whatever else Voldemort may or may not do, he certainly wouldn't play at being _sporting_ this time around.

x-x-x

Harry came to abruptly, surprised he had actually been allowed to wake up, and immediately tried to move. He _had_ to get away. He couldn't move, though, his hands bound tightly straight out to his sides. The wood of the banister pressed into his back and the magical ropes that bound him dug painfully into his wrists. Even as he gasped, one of the two men grabbed his head and forced his mouth open, a thumb wedged painfully into the hinge at the back of his jaw. The other poured a potion into his mouth. He tried to spit it out, lessen its effect - whatever that may be - but the first covered his mouth and plugged his nose, forcing him to swallow if he wanted to breathe.

It took only seconds to realize what they'd given him, an unnatural calm - given the circumstances - settling over him. Harry was . . . confused. Why would they want him calm? Didn't deatheaters _like_ scaring people? That was like their trademark wasn't it?

The one removing his hand, smirked at him, the man's mouth and eyes about the only thing visible of his face. "Can't risk any more of that _accidental_ magic, now can we?" he sneered.

_Oh!_ Harry snorted and cocked his head to the side as he peered at the wizard. "No, I imagine being thrown into a wall was . . . not fun," he replied, smirking.

_Ow!_ Harry thought as his head snapped to the side with the force of the wizard's backhand across his cheek. _That_ was going to bruise!

A second blow was stopped by the second deatheater, making Harry frown as his confusion once again rose past his magically enforced calm.

"We need him healthy, Moron!"

_Oh!_ That explained the lack of horrifying torture then. But what, exactly, they needed him healthy for eluded Harry, a faint concern about it niggling back behind the blanket of magically induced calm.

"Why?" he asked, genuinely curious; though, a part of him deep down was screaming at him to try and get away, to get angry enough to do something, _anything_ to them. He really couldn't be arsed to listen to the urge, however. It made some small part of him wonder if it wasn't more than _just_ a calming draught. It seemed awfully powerful.

Now _both_ deatheaters were smirking at him, something that made him terribly uneasy, even with the effects of the odd calming potion. "You're going to aid our lord."

Harry laughed. Even now, he knew he would never serve the dark lord. No amount of potion would make that change. Not even the imperius would do the trick. "No," he replied evenly, "I will not. I will never serve him."

They laughed in response, the sound beyond sinister. "You mistake us," replied deatheater one. "We did not say you would be given the honor of serving him. We said you would _aid_ him."

_And the difference is?_ Harry wondered, waiting, knowing they would boast eventually.

"Just like you aided him the night he returned."

_Oh! That's the difference._ Unease rippled through Harry, the sensation almost enough to push off the effects of the potion; almost, but not quite.

"Our Lord is taking back the power you took from him, and taking the rest in payment!" he crowed.

Harry blanched, nearly passing out. _No!_ Surely that wasn't possible!

Deatheater two flicked his wand and Harry suddenly found himself as naked as the day he'd been born. He blinked in surprise.

"Now _that_ is just plain rude," he remarked, frowning, distracted from the brief surge of fear.

Neither deatheater responded to his comment, beyond snorting in amusement, and Harry huffed. It wasn't until the first deatheater began to paint what appeared to be red runic symbols across his chest that Harry started to get worried again. He remembered all too well the outcome of the last dark ritual he'd been an unwilling participant in, and he really didn't think this one would have a better outcome. He twisted and kicked out, catching the one painting him between the legs, sending the man to his knees with a howl. Even as he winced in unwanted sympathy, he didn't stop struggling. Unfortunately, the other deatheater stayed just out of reach, raising his wand. Harry didn't hear what spell he cast, but winced in response, knowing it couldn't be good.

It wasn't; though, not in the way Harry had expected. He found his legs suddenly bound to the base of the banister. He was now completely unable to move.

x-x-x

Lord Voldemort desperately wanted to pace. He didn't. It would not do to be seen by his deatheaters to be nervous, to display even the least of nervous behaviors. Instead, he sat waiting, impatient, forcing himself to be still. He'd had it all planned out for more than a year now. Unfortunately, he hadn't found Potter's home until quite recently. Consequently, those bloody muggles hadn't been gone from the home long enough to destroy the wards completely, just weaken them. With the family gone, and the house bare, he doubted the boy would stay long, so he'd had to act before the boy went running back to his wizarding protectors. The wards weren't weak enough to allow _him_ entrance, nor to drag the boy out kicking and screaming - or unconscious for that matter - so he'd had to send two of his deatheaters to complete the ritual there.

He would have far preferred to do this the moment the brat got home, but couldn't. Not even his deatheaters could have got through the wards then. The boy first had to realize that he'd been abandoned for the wards to crumble just enough to allow them inside. The two he had chosen had been hand picked for qualities he did not usually encourage in his followers. They cared about their family. They _loved_ them, would die for them. That little insurance made it possible for him to entrust them with enough of his blood to complete the draining ritual. He wanted Harry Potter's power. He would _have_ Harry Potter's power.

Turning his gaze onto the families of the two he'd sent, he allowed himself to smile. It was by no means a friendly smile, and it had the desired effect. They cringed back from him. They knew what fate awaited them if the two he had entrusted this mission with failed or betrayed him in any way. These two families would die, every last one of them. They would die screaming for mercy; mercy he would not grant them. He ignored the men guarding them completely as he turned his attention back to the cut on his arm. It was still bleeding, just as it should be. It needed to bleed until the ritual was complete. He growled low in his throat, not liking this need to work through intermediaries at all; despite his . . . insurance. He wanted to _be_ there, to know exactly what was going on as it happened. He _loathed_ waiting.

x-x-x

Severus strode through the dark lord's manor, steeling himself for the coming meeting, the mark on his arm burning far more fiercely than normal. The pain had not dimmed even after he had followed its thread to its master, and that had him worried. Something big was obviously happening tonight, and whatever it was , it couldn't be good.

"They should be inside Potter's home by now!" the dark lord shouted, sounding triumphant.

Severus froze mere inches from crossing into the room. _What?_ he thought in shock. Surely he had heard wrong.

"They will begin the ritual soon."

Knowing he didn't have much time, Severus backed slowly away from the door.

"Come in, Severus."

Severus blanched, spun, and ran. He could not afford to stay. This was beyond the fact that the dark lord would question his hesitancy in entering. If he didn't get to Albus, Potter and his family would be lost. He may hate the boy, but he'd made a promise to Lily - not that she knew about it - and he owed James Potter a life debt. He would protect that boy at all costs. While he didn't have Albus' belief that the boy was the key - the _only_ key - to defeating the dark lord, the headmaster's certainty was enough to plant some doubt in his mind and he certainly didn't want anything to happen to the brat on the off chance that Albus was right. The wizard certainly had an uncanny tendency to be just that; right.

"**NO!**" the dark lord screamed, outrage in the angry words reverberating after Severus as he ran. He didn't know if it was his sudden disappearance that had caused the outburst or whether something else had happened to distract the maniac, but he devoutly hoped it was the latter. It would help with his escape if it was.

The moment he made it out the front door he spun abruptly right, hoping that not making a straight beeline for the edge of the wards, might slow his pursuers down a second or two - and pursuers he _knew_ he had. He didn't need to hear or see them to know it for a certainty. It was inevitable. Not entering at the dark lord's verbal greeting made certain of that. The moment he reached the corner of the manor, he veered further right, hoping that by the time his pursuers reached the door he just might be out of the line of sight. Forcing them to split up to look for him would give him more of an edge, something he needed as much of as he could get at the moment. Casting his strongest dorsicontego as he ran, he hoped for the best. Those specific kinds of shields were not his forte, but he was not hopeless at them either.

x-x-x

Everyone around him blanched at his scream of denial, but he ignored them. Whipping out his wand, he pushed the tip of it into the master mark on his own arm, abruptly severing the connection between him and the two he had sent after the Potter brat. He also healed the now dangerous wound. The moment he completed both of those things, the drain on him stopped and he sighed in relief. The last thing he needed was the upstart brat to get more of his power! Slowly, he raised his wand toward the two families huddled in the corner of the room. He was going to _enjoy_ this!

x-x-x

Both wands raised at him, Harry's eyes widened as his fear tried to grow, to fight against the magical calm that engulfed him. He tried to encourage it, but no matter what he did, he couldn't get angry enough, or terrified enough, to evoke a magical outburst and that was the only thing that was going to save him now, he knew.

As two streaks of purple yellow spell light shot toward him, Harry clenched his eyes shut and prayed. He'd never seen that color mix before and had absolutely no clue what it would do to him. He was sure it wasn't anything good, though. The odd, oily-looking, sickening mixture of the colors was enough to tell him that.

"You are not strong enough to hurt my son!" whispered a fierce female voice and Harry snapped his eyes open in shock. _Who?_ What he saw now made him gasp. He was surrounded by a thick, white fog laced with tendrils of a darker gray. Eyes wide in shock, he barely noticed as the spells heading toward him slowed, now inching forward, as if in slow motion. The grey within the white shot forward, forming what Harry could only think of as a shield, stopping the points of the spell light cold. The moment it did so, however, the grey exploded into a puff of smoke, completely disappearing. The spells themselves did not dissipate, however. Instead, four thin tendrils of the white fog reached out toward them, nearly solidifying as they wrapped around the spells, changing them, twisting them around as if they were strings connected to the deateaters' wands. With a howl of triumph, it released them back at the casters. Harry continued to watch in detached fascination as one deatheater, and then the other, arched and screamed, dropping to the floor as if felled by the cruciatus.

"We can do no more for you, Harry," the voice whispered and Harry felt a . . . caress against his cheek, a feeling of being profoundly loved washing over him. "You are on your own now, my son. Please make sure Padfoot and Moony know just how much we love them. Be strong, my Harry; live."

The fog lifted from around him, taking the shape of something roughly human. A woman, Harry was certain, and suddenly he knew. It was his mother; the part of herself she had left behind to protect him. "We love you, Harry. Never forget that," she whispered faintly, her voice fading even as her amorphous form did as well. The sudden brightening of one of his two attackers snapped his attention away from his fading mother. His eyes widening even more, he winced as, what he could only think of as, lightening shot from one to the other, striking the second where his dark mark would be hidden beneath the sleeves of his robes and then shot directly toward him.

He slumped, clenching his eyes shut, knowing it was going to hurt.

The bolt of energy hit him square in the middle of his chest, arcing out from there to cover his entire body in thousands of tiny electric arcs. It didn't hurt particularly much, surprisingly enough, Harry realized through his continued detachment. Rather, it felt like hundreds of insects crawling over his skin. It was driving him mad with the need to scratch everywhere at once. Finally, the need grew enough to begin overpowering the potion. He screamed his frustration at being unable to move, unable to do the slightest thing to make it all stop.

It was worse, however, when the first tiny arc hit one of the red runes on his torso. The bolt of electricity was sucked inside him, reminding him - rather nauseatingly - of someone slurping up a long strand of spaggheti. He could feel it worming its way deeper inside him, rather like a mouse crawling inside his body. It was a horrifying sensation at best, and he was utterly certain that whatever else it was going to do, the electrical 'mouse' was going to eat the magic out of him. How better to 'aid' the dark lord, after all, than to leave 'the boy who lived' a useless squib. Fear rose to panic at that point, completely over-riding the last of the effects of the calming potion.

"No!" he screamed in anguish. How could he be strong when he was certain his entire world was just about to be ripped out from beneath him? Dumbledore was right, there _were_ things worse than death.

The two deatheaters suddenly went limp, the spell light around them fading, but Harry barely noticed, most of his attention centered on the maddening, terrifying things he was feeling.

His scar exploded in pain then and suddenly he wasn't feeling those things any more. He was enraged, instead, staring out of the eyes of Voldemort.

"What did you say?" he hissed angrily, Lucius Malfoy on his knees in front of him.

"He got away, My Lord," Lucius replied quietly, not moving.

What was Malfoy doing there? Wasn't he supposed to be in prison?

Despite his rage, he could see the tension and the fear running through the other wizard and felt an incredible rush of power at having this arrogant pureblood on his knees in front of him, on his knees _to_ him. Surprising himself, he was uneasily aware that not every bit of that pleasure was Voldemort's. He could just imagine what it would be like to have someone that arrogantly proud kneeling before him.

Harry shook himself mentally, finally separating himself somewhat from Voldemort. He could still feel the dark wizard's rage, but it no longer felt like his own, and it was then that Harry realized something very important. Voldemort hated purebloods just as much as he hated muggles. It was a shock, but before he could truly process what that might mean, Voldemort ripped his attention away from the nebulous thoughts with pain.

"Crucio!"

Harry screamed right along side Lucius Malfoy, experiencing both sides of the curse, the sickening rush and power of casting it, as well as the pain of receiving it.

Ending the curse, Voldemort leaned forward. "Find him, Lucius," he hissed quietly, "and bring him to me. If you do not, I will begin to wonder why I keep you around."

Voldemort straightened, sending his gaze out at the remaining deatheaters, taking Harry's gaze along for the ride. Harry did see Malfoy tremble slightly, though, before he could no longer see the man at all. "Leave me!" he snapped. "And take _those_ with you," he continued, waving a negligent hand towards the bodies of the two 'unfortunate' families.

x-x-x

"Albus!" Severus shouted as he stumbled up the stairwell as fast as possible.

The headmaster was at the door to his office when the door opened, catching Severus as he fell through. "What-"

"Deatheaters are at Potter's!" he snapped out, trembling and staying on his feet by sheer will power alone.

"What?" Albus exclaimed sharply, instantly releasing Severus and hurrying to his desk.

Severus stumbled, but managed to retain his footing as he watched the older wizard jerk open a drawer and pull out an odd looking object. It was blackened and scorched.

"How?" Albus murmured in obvious shock. He shook it off almost instantly, spinning around toward Fawkes. "Send as many members of the order as you can find to Harry's home!" he snapped out, rounding the desk and grabbing a piece of parchement as he gave the order. "Portus!" he continued, striding toward Severus. "Can you come?"

Severus nodded sharply. He was _not_ about to be left behind. He may not be at the top of his form at the moment, his pursuers having managed to land several curses before he got past the antiapparation and antiportkey wards, but they might need all the help they could get.

**AN:** More on the Malfoy family curse later. : )

TBC  
Kiristeen ke Alaya  
Feedback: Please! It really helps and is muchly appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** This chapter of Episode One of "Going Gray" is dedicated to **Makaem** the very first person to review this story. : ) Thanks Makaem! Your comments are muchly appreciated. Your reward, an early second chapter.  
**AN2:** Episode One "A Mother's Love" has four chapters. Please enjoy chapter two. : )

Kiri

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Chapter Two  
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Harry hung from his bindings, despairing and sullen. He could not believe he'd endured all he had only to die here at the Dursley's, simply because there was no one to know anything was wrong. He felt completely . . . wrong, though. Given the . . . empty numbness he felt, he was oddly energized, as though he could run forever. He did wonder, though, when he was truly going to begin to _feel_ what had happened. He still felt so very oddly disconnected from everything, despite momentary highs and lows.

_Wait!_ he thought suddenly, his head snapping up painfully, the blood from his scar now tacky. _I cast expelliarmus! Surely the ministry will investigate._ Harry would far rather someone else come, but didn't have a hope of that since supposedly no one else was watching him this year. He could not remember a time he had felt this alone and abandoned, not even the times he'd spent days locked in his cupboard as a young child.

He dully wondered what would happen now, not truly able to work much emotion past the potion and the sense of defeat that held him in its sway. The prophecy he had so recently learned about was useless to him now, useless to all of them. Voldemort would win any confrontation between them easily. _He_ was useless now, just as his uncle had always claimed. He fidgeted restlessly against his bindings unable to remain completely still, despite his raw wrists and ankles.

"Bloody hell, Potter!" Snape snapped, jerking Harry's head around to stare in stark disbelief. Surely he was hallucinating. He was not seeing the headmaster rushing toward him. Nor was he seeing Snape, of all people, bracing himself against the front door jamb.

"Are you alright, Harry?" the headmaster asked as, with a quick flick of his wand, he released the bindings holding Harry to the banister. The headmaster caught him as he fell to his knees.

With that action came the realization that they were truly there. They had actually come for him. The despair lost its grip on him then, and grief and fear rushed in to take its place. Tears flowed down his face as he haltingly told of all that had happened since he had arrived home. He had reached the point where the front door had burst open when a snort from the doorway halted his explanation. He turned to face the professor, already sure what he would see. Yep; he was right. Snape was sneering at him.

"And _why_," he drawled, his voice rich with condescending anger, "did you not try to get help, the moment you realized you were here alone?"

The sigh from the headmaster did nothing to stop his own angry response. _Wow! All it takes is Snape to defeat the power of calming potions! Who knew?_ "What part of 'Mrs. Figg is gone, too, did you not get?" he snarled, beyond caring about that the professor could make life at school a living hell. Without magic, there was no reason for him to go back. That alone was almost enough to bring back the tears. Fortunately - from his point of view - his anger over rode it. "I did try to get help."

"And what about your owl, Potter?" he snarled.

"The headmaster wouldn't let me bring her home!" he snapped angrily, his entire body flushing with heat and energy. He really wished that would go away. It was . . .disconcerting!

"Gentlemen-"

"Then you should have immediately caught the knight bus," Snape snapped. "I know you know how to summon it!"

Harry threw up his hands, wincing at the pain that shot through his shoulders and back at the gesture of defeat. "Great!" he snapped out, returning his attention to the headmaster. "For years I get berated for not thinking before I act, now that I _do_ take that time, I get berated for not acting the moment I got here! I can't win for losing!"

"Gentlemen!" the headmaster snapped. "That is enough from both of you," he continued, glaring at first one then the other. "Harry, I will have you finish your tale after we get somewhere safe. Are all your things still right here?"

Harry nodded, then frowned, quickly scanning the room. Where was his wand? "One of them probably has my wand, though. I don't see it anywhere."

Nodding, the headmaster swiftly shrunk Harry's trunk as Snape quickly bound the two unconcious deatheaters. Within seconds they were ready to leave. Before they could, however, several things happened at the same time. An owl dropped an official looking letter at their feet before flying off, and several distinctive apparation pops were heard from outside.

Snape hurried to the window and carefully peeked outside as Harry picked up the letter. Just as he'd thought; it was from the ministry.

"Several order members are here," Snape drawled. "A little late to be much help."

The headmaster chuckled. "Well, better late than never," he replied, then urged Harry outside.

x-x-x

The moment they arrived at Grimauld Place, Headmaster Dumbledore eased Harry into a chair, something for which Harry was quite grateful. Standing hurt, and he wasn't altogether certain he could have remained standing much longer. He only vaguely noticed Snape also easing himself into a chair, his tight face relaxing somewhat. Harry wondered what had happened to the professor, but didn't get the chance to ask as the headmaster retook his attention. "What happened next, Harry?" he asked quietly.

Gulping, Harry nodded, trying to finish his tale calmly. That state of mind didn't last long as he felt the last of the potions effects fade away and his true, full reaction hit him all at once. Tears filled his eyes as he reached the part he thought was his mother saving his life, _again_. Both the men listening gasped as he repeated her words to him. By the time he reached her farewell, he was sobbing.

"How can I be strong when they took it all away?" he asked.

"Took what away, Harry?"

Harry blinked in surprise. How could the man be so dense? _Oh!_ He'd forgotten to tell them that part, he realized, and hurriedly relayed that part of the conversation.

Snape lurched immediately to his feet, swaying. "You should have told us that first thing!" he sneered angrily, closing in on Harry.

Harry whipped his head around and glared. "Back off, Snape!" he snapped, not bothering to even _try_ to control himself this time, not caring about the incredible flush of heat and energy the whipped through him. Why did he need to now? He didn't have to worry about a flare of his magic anymore, now did he?

His jaw dropped as Snape suddenly flew backwards, slamming over the chair he'd previously been sitting in. He didn't even truly register the headmaster's sharp admonishment. "Harry!"

He whirled back to face the headmaster. "I'm not a squib!" he exclaimed, half in shock, half in glee, completely disregarding the fact that his magic had lashed out at a professor, one he, once again, had to worry about during the school year.

"Apparently not," Dumbledore replied mildly, frowning. "You will have to allow _Professor_ Snape to examine the runes on your chest, Harry. He will better be able to determine whether they misdrew them, and what affect it may have actually had."

Harry winced at the not-so-subtle rebuke, but nodded. "I didn't mean to do that, Professor," he replied, honestly. "I didn't think I _could_ do that anymore."

"I realize that, Harry," the headmaster replied evenly. "And I'm sure that once he calms down, Professor Snape will as well."

_Not bloody likely,_ Harry thought sourly, but didn't contradict the headmaster out loud. It wouldn't do him any good anyway. He'd long ago learned that adults always took the side of the other adults. His time in the wizarding world had done very little to change that opinion. Only one man had always taken _his_ side, and he was dead now; dead because Harry had fallen for one of Voldemort's tricks. Despite his abysmal attempts at learning occlumency, Harry realized it was the only way to make sure it didn't happen again. Maybe there were books on the subject. Anything had to be better than Snape's teaching methods - even reading dry, old, _boring_ books about it. In fact, they might actually tell him _how_ to do the things Snape had ordered him to do.

Snape was nearly snarling as he stumbled to his feet, coming back toward Harry. Harry tried not to wince, but was sure he hadn't hidden his reaction entirely when Snape's snarl morphed into a knowing smirk.

"What else happened?" the headmaster asked, once again drawing Harry's attention away from the potions professor. Before he could continue, however, the front door slammed open, and someone came running inside. A loud crash and mumbled curses had Harry snickering. There was only one person that could be.

"In here, Nymphadora," the headmaster called, having to shout to be heard above Mrs. Black's foul screeching. Seconds later, Tonks appeared.

"We've got a problem," she exclaimed, clumsily dropping onto the, as yet, unused divan.

"We already _know_ that!" Snape snapped.

"I meant _another_ problem!" she snapped right back.

Harry liked that about Tonks; she could hold her own against anyone.

Laying a restraining hand on Snape's arm, the headmaster faced Tonks. "What is it?"

"The two in deatheater masks?" she began.

The headmaster nodded.

"They can't _be_ deatheaters," she said firmly.

Harry glared. "What would you call wizards wearing those clothes and masks, attacking me, and calling Voldemort 'our lord'?"

"I don't know what happened at your home, Harry, but they could _not_ be deatheaters," she snapped. "They-"

"Are you calling me a liar now?" he snapped angrily. He was so sick of everyone calling him a liar, every time something odd or unbelievable happened.

"Calm yourself, Potter!" Snape snapped.

"Why, Nymphadora?"

"Because they're squibs," she replied, glaring at the headmaster.

Harry blinked, his jaw dropping open. It wasn't for several seconds that Harry realized what had happened. "She reversed the spells!" he blurted in complete awe, blushing when he suddenly found he had everyone's focused attention.

"She who?" Tonks asked, looking confused. No one answered.

"Quite possible, my boy," the headmaster said softly, sounding far too . . . awed for Harry's comfort.

_Great! Another thing to be considered a freak for,_ Harry thought bitterly. "If the spells they cast didn't take my power, what _did_ it do?" he asked instead of giving voice to his thoughts. Cringing at the thought that he might actually have _received_ something from the two deatheaters; though, he supposed that even that would be better than not having magic at all. Had she really 'reversed' the spells? If so, did that mean he'd got _their_ magic in addition to his own? He really wasn't sure he liked that idea. Nearly everyone had been scared of him when they'd learned he spoke parseltongue. How would they react if they learned he now had the magic of **three** wizards?

"Severus?" the headmaster asked softly.

Snape frowned and shook his head. "So far, these look like they were applied correctly," he said thoughtfully. "The runes _are_ correctly drawn, in and of themselves. Of course, I would have to get my hands on the actual ritual to see if they are the right runes for this specific ritual and are in the right places."

"Would a pensieve memory of it help?" Harry asked.

Snape reared back, something like surprise flying across his face. "It might," he replied shortly.

The headmaster stood suddenly, nodding firmly. "Where are they, Nymphadora?"

"We didn't think it was a good idea to turn them in," she replied. "We'll need to figure something out; though. The ministry is aware that magic was used at Harry's home today."

Snape snorted.

"We certainly can't turn over 'squib' deatheaters and leave them to assume Harry did all the magic, so they're currently sedated in the private ward of the infirmary at Hogwarts. Remus and Moody are there guarding them - as well as Poppy, of course.

_Oh._ Harry sighed in relief. She _hadn't_ been calling him a liar, simply outlining what the ministry and the wizarding public would believe. Of course, _they'd_ believe it. The people _lived_ for scandal as far as Harry could see. Frankly, he couldn't figure out what was so fascinating about it. At the base of every scandal was someone being humiliated or hurt. It didn't seem something to take pleasure from to him. He frowned, listening to the others continue talking. Then again, he mused, if Malfoy was at the bottom of it. . . . He shook himself from that line of thinking. He didn't like himself very much when he thought like that, but occasionally - okay, quite a bit of the time - couldn't quite keep the thoughts at bay.

When he did manage to pull himself from his thoughts, he blinked in surprise. The headmaster had left. When did he leave? He wanted to ask where, but realized he'd probably just make a fool of himself if he did. Knowing his luck, he'd missed an entire conversation that covered it. Thankfully, Snape hadn't seemed to notice his preoccupation. He was still too busy inspecting the runes that covered him. Now that he was thinking about them again, however, he noticed they were beginning to itch something fierce. He reached up to scratch, only to find his hand grabbed by the professor.

"Don't!" Snape snapped, glaring at him.

He frowned again. "Why not?" he asked, keeping his question barely civil. "They itch."

Snape rolled his eyes, his nearly perpetual sneer increasing. "Of course they do, Potter. Dried blood always does."

"Blood?" he yelped. They'd painted him with _blood_? "Gross!"

Tonks laughed; though, she sort of managed to turn it into a cough when he turned a glare toward her. It _wasn't_ funny.

"What did you _think_ it was, Potter?" Snape sneered condescendingly.

"Not blood," Harry snapped back, then nearly drew back as Snape's expression morphed into something approaching humor. _That_ scared him a little.

"Given what we believe the nature of the ritual to be," he drawled. "I suspect it's the dark lord's blood."

Harry gaped in astonishment. Even without a detailed education in dark magic, he'd learned enough of the wizarding world to know that witches and wizards guarded personal items like hair and old skin like it was worth more than platinum. Given what it could be used for, polyjuice being a tame example, Harry couldn't say he didn't understand completely. For Voldemort to willingly part with some of his blood, letting it go outside his actual presence, was beyond astonishing. He swallowed heavily, it finally hitting home just how much Voldemort was willing to risk to get him out of the way. "He's bloody insane!" he exclaimed, unable to stop the outburst.

Tonks laughed again.

This time, however, Snape also let out a single barked laugh.

Harry stared at him in renewed astonishment. He didn't think he'd ever seen the man truly smile, let alone _laugh_ before.

"I would have thought that even _you_ would have figured that out before now, Potter," he said drily.

"Well, sure," Harry admitted easily, still reeling from Professor Snape's unusual reaction. "This just sort of shoved it home with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer!"

Tonks snickered, but she was the only one who did. Snape looked oddly . . . blank. Harry wasn't certain whether that meant he got it and didn't think it was funny, or whether he didn't get it, and didn't want anyone to know. Knowing Snape, it could be either one. There could even be a third option - however remote the possibility - Harry realized; the man could have found it funny and not want Harry to know he actually had a sense of humor. Nearly snorting at that last thought, Harry forcibly turned his mind back to the mystery of Dumbledore's disappearance, completely ignoring the two with him - as much as he could with Snape still _hovering_, seemingly fascinated by the runes, his fingers occasionally ghosting over the uncomfortable markings.

_Probably went to check on the two deatheaters,_ he thought, bringing his mind back to what Tonks had said. She had been right. They couldn't turn two 'squib' deatheaters over to the ministry. He frowned then, horror growing as he realized that she'd been wrong too. The ministry would know they hadn't _always_ been squibs, and that was even worse for him than being accused of attacking squibs. Squibs weren't exactly well respected in the magical community. No, what would be _assumed_ was that Harry had somehow stolen their power.

He blanched, swallowing convulsively as a wave of dizziness hit him. This was not good!

"Harry?" Tonks asked, sounding concerned. "Are you alright?"

He shook his head fervently, regretting it instantly as he swayed, his vision going dark. Suddenly, his knees were pushed apart and his head shoved down between them.

"Breathe slowly, Potter," Snape snapped.

"This is bad," Harry muttered, squeezing his eyes shut, "really bad."

"What now?" Snape demanded.

Taking a deep breath, Harry sat up, surprised when Snape actually let him do so. He shook his head, slowly explaining the thoughts that had led to his panic attack.

"Bloody hell!" Snape swore, standing suddenly.

"What's wrong, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, startling Harry.

He snapped his head around to see the headmaster enter the room. It made him feel only a little better that Snape had been just as surprised by the headmaster's sudden reappearance as he had been.

It didn't take long before the headmaster was caught up to speed about Harry's newest . . . concern regarding the ministry. The decided lack of merriment in the headmaster's eyes - combined with the slight frown - did absolutely nothing to ease Harry's worry. In fact, in did quite the opposite, and it was all he could do not to descend into panic again. Voldemort, he could handle. The ministry was another matter entirely. Look at what they'd done to Sirius! No veriteserum, no trial even!

The headmaster sighed, jerking Harry out of his useless thoughts. "If this had happened to anyone other than Harry - or perhaps, you, Severus - I would say the worry was nothing more than paranoia."

Harry bristled.

"Unfortunately, Minister Fudge has a rather large grudge against Harry, and I fear that is _exactly_ what he will say happened, irregardless of what he actually believes."

Harry's eyes widened, a part of him having wanted the headmaster to tell him that he really _was_ worried about nothing. Unfortunately, he knew better. The wizarding world would turn on him in a heart beat, given any kind of rumor of possible wrong doing - especially something as dark as power theft. It _had_ to be dark, didn't it? He would certainly consider it dark.

Harry's mind started whirling, half thoughts forming and being discarded as quickly as they began. It didn't seem like anything would help him now. He was completely screwed.

"Mr. Potter!"

Harry jumped at Snape's shout. "What?" he exclaimed, frowning. What had he missed?

Snape rolled his eyes, sneering at him and Harry turned his attention to the headmaster, the far lesser of two evils at the moment. He only barely noticed the pensieve sitting on the low table in front of him.

"Sorry, Professor," he offered. "I kind of . . . drifted."

"Now is not the time to _daydream_, Potter!" Snape snapped. "You need to pay-"

"I wasn't _daydreaming_, Professor!" Harry snapped back. "I was trying to think of something to get me out of this!"

"Alright you two," the headmaster began.

"Leave the thinking to those capable of it!"

"Severus!" the headmaster snapped, while Harry glared.

Neither continued the argument, however, both turning their attention back to the headmaster.

"Thank you," the headmaster said firmly. "Now, perhaps you will retrieve the memory so that Professor Snape and I may view it, Harry?"

Harry nodded, listening as the headmaster explained how to extract the memory.

Once he was finished, the memory glistening in the pensieve bowl, Harry sat back. He didn't move when the two leaned forward toward the bowl.

The headmaster frowned a little, tilting his head to the side as he returned his attention to Harry. "Are you going to join us?" he asked quietly.

Harry shook his head fervently. "I have no desire to see that again," he replied adamantly. "Living it was enough for me."

The headmaster nodded and once again leaned forward.

Harry sat warily, eyeing Snape. He didn't relax until he was certain the wizard had joined the headmaster in the memory. He watched them for several moments before allowing his thoughts to drift back to his current predicament - which was _not_ his fault, no matter what Snape tried to imply.

The problem, of course, was that anything that upset the delicate balance of hope of the general populace would blow up in his face as spectacularly as possible. He knew _that_ from personal experience. He almost smirked. It would be great if he could turn this all around to make it look like a good thing.

x-x-x

Severus was nervous as he and the headmaster landed in Potter's memory; though, he would admit that to no one but himself. The thought of seeing Lily again, even in this form - assuming they were currect in their assumptions - sent butterflies with the power of bludgers through his gut. He swallowed heavily as he quickly gazed around the completely dust coated rooms, carefully assessing the situation. Potter was bound to the banister, almost as they had found him, only here, he was struggling wildly, the boy's legs kicking out. Wincing in universal male sympathy as Potter caught one of his attackers between his legs, Severus moved closer. He wanted to make sure he missed nothing of the ritual. Without access to the name of it, he needed every clue he could get to correctly identify it. They had to make sure nothing beyond the obvious had happened - not to mention, make sure what they thought happened had really, actually happened.

Even before the wounded deatheater managed to regain his feet, the other had silently bound both of Potter's legs to the banister base, leaving the boy in the postion he and the headmaster had found him.

The moment the downed deatheater found his feet, the two raised their wands in unison, intoning the ritual chant.

"Translatum magus vires per famulatus gratia leodium senior."

Severus blinked, automatically translating the words as he watched the sickly, oily looking spell light, typical of truly dark rituals speed toward the boy-who-lived.

_Convey strength of magic through the vassals to the liege lord._ Not an exact translation of course, he mused, but rather the intent of the ritualistic words.

"You are not strong enough to hurt my son!" snarled a feminine voice.

Severus eyes widened in utter disbelief. Potter had been telling the truth. The white fog covered the boy so well, he could barely see the brat. He watched in absolute fascination as the darker grey shot forward, completely separating itself from the far more prevelant white. He could feel his jaw drop as it mimicked a perfect magic stasis shield - a shield meant to freeze magic, rather than rebound or absorb it. He'd never seen it done anywhere other than a classroom setting. In most situations, it was a worthless spell. The moment the shield failed or was dropped the spells would continue as if uninterrupted. In a nonritualistic situation, it didn't even stop the casters from moving on to other spells, since the spells had - obviously - already been cast.

He was jerked out of his musing when the white fog formed fingers that astonishingly manipulated the spells aimed at Potter and-

"By all that's magical!" he breathed. She really had done it. Lily had moved the spells like they were physical things, rather than magical energy, turned them around and released them back from whence they'd come. "Incredible!"

"Indeed it is, Severus," Albus replied softly, sounding just as amazed as Severus, himself, did. Severus barely noticed. He was too busy watching the scene as it continued to unfold, the words of Lily holding him spellbound. _We?_ he wondered, then gasped as he realized. _The darker color, the grey; it's James Potter._ This was more than some spell or sacrifice made of love. This was so beyond that as to exist on a completely separate realm of existence. What he was seeing manifest before him was that which would - or could - have become ghosts or 'moved on' had the two not tied themselves to their only son. He was seeing the souls of James and Lily Potter. Both had done more than sacrifice their mortal lives for the boy; they had sacrificed their _immortal_ existence!

Severus gulped as horrified understanding swamped him. What they had done was so utterly and competely . . . _Gryffindor_ it defied reason and all logic. They had given up _everything_! At this point, the souls of James and Lily Potter would likely cease to exist - at least that was his understanding of what they'd done. No wonder the dark lord had been defeated that night. What they had done was the complete antithesis of what the dark lord was. The killing curse hadn't hit Harry Potter that night, at least, not directly. It had hit the souls of his parents first. What little substance they contained had filtered the curse enough that the toddler had been hit with little more than hate made manifest, only enough magic left in the deadly spell to leave him with a permanent reminder of the occasion.

Tears instantly filled his eyes as he realized, not even after his time came would he ever be able to see the bright, pure soul that had once been his best friend.

Severus jumped, the headmaster with him, as lightening shot from one deatheater to the other, then almost immediately leapt from the second to Harry Potter. He frowned as he watched the scene continue to unfold, shuddering as he watched the power burrow into the boy. Something wasn't right here and he couldn't quite put his finger on just what was wrong. He did know, something _was_ wrong, however. He allowed his gaze to shift back and forth between the deatheaters and Potter, the words of the ritual reverberating through his mind.

x-x-x

Harry was startled from his thoughts when Tonks jumped, the sudden movement of both Snape and the headmaster startling her first. He hadn't realized that much time had passed already. Where the bloody hell had his mind been?

Harry shifted uncomfortably under the looks the two wizards leveled at him. Snape, for a split second looked - quite frankly - horrified, something that worried Harry greatly. The headmaster, on the other hand, seemed almost . . . afraid? . . . Harry shook his head. He had to be imagining things. Whatever the headmaster's reaction had really been, neither man's reaction sat well with Harry, as neither seemed appropriate to the wizards in question.

"What?" he asked warily, almost shrinking back into his chair. What had the spells done to him that could produce those reactions? It had to be utterly horrific!

x-x-x

Harry ran up to the room that he and Ron had shared the last time they'd stayed at Grimauld, slamming the door shut behind him. It had been by only the slimmest of margins that he'd managed to excuse himself before he'd bolted. This was all just too much! Throwing himself onto 'his' bed, Harry clenched his eyes shut and pressed his arm across them for good measure. He wanted to completely block out the world.

He was enough of a freak already, Harry thought sourly. He _really_ didn't need this on top of everything else. Being idolized because his mother died to protect him wasn't exactly something to be proud of. He'd much rather have his parents back in his life. He'd trade all the gold in his trust vault and every ounce of fame he had for just a little more time with his parents. It would be nice to be able to have a memory _beyond_ their screams as they died; though, even that was something.

Tears leaked out the corners of his tightly shut eyelids, despite his best attempts to avoid just that. Evidently, it wasn't enough that he'd survived the killing curse - apparently thanks to his mother. It wasn't enough that he could speak parseltongue - thanks, apparently, to Voldemort. It wasn't enough that he'd been instrumental in bringing Voldemort back - this time thanks to _wormtail_. _Now_ he'd been given - taken? - the power of two other wizards. Again, it was thanks to his mother - not that he wasn't extremely grateful to have not only survived the experience, but kept his magic as well; but, couldn't she have redirected it elsewhere instead of into him? He really didn't need this.

He sighed. Allowing his arm to drop down onto the bed and reluctantly opening his eyes, a thought suddenly occurred to him. It was more of a wish, really. If he couldn't make it all simply disappear, he wished he could spin it into a good thing, instead of something dangerous and frightening. No witch or wizard wanted to know that their magic could be stolen from them. He could just imagine the reaction of the purebloods to _that_ little tidbit - especially given that he was a half blood. It was bound to go over like a lead balloon - filled with C-4! It would have purebloods flocking to Voldemort's side!

The two deatheaters, turned squibs, were going to be a very large problem; this much Harry knew for sure, and a large part of him wished they could simply kill them and be done with it. Of course, according to everything he'd ever learned, that would make them as bad as the people they were fighting against. That's what Voldemort did; kill everyone that disagreed with him.

They couldn't turn them over to the ministry for the punishment they deserved, either. That would open an entirely different can of worms, and would land Harry in more trouble than he - or the headmaster could possibly get him out of. Of course, they couldn't simply let them go, either. Not only could they spread it far and wide that 'The Boy Who Lived had _stolen_ their magic', putting him in the same boat he'd be in if they turned the two in to the ministry, they most likely wouldn't survive long, anyway.

They had failed Voldemort in a _very_ big way. If the link between him and that madman had taught Harry anything at all, it was that Voldemort _really_ didn't forgive mistakes or failures. Not even Malfoy - version one - one of the most powerful and influential men in service to the mad wizard, was exempt from painful punishments. A failure this big would almost certainly result in death. As much as it grated, the two who had tried to take away his gifts would have to be protected - for more than one reason. Unless they were insane fanatics, they wouldn't be eager to return to Voldemort, at least, which should make that part a little easier.

He just wished there was something they could get out of the two to make the 'protection' worthwhile - beyond keeping this whole incident quiet. They were 'takers'. They should need to be 'givers' for a change to get that precious protection.

_Take - Give._

He frowned, an idea stirring deeply inside his mind. It was there, just at the edge of active thought. He simply couldn't, quite, bring it fully into focus. It all hinged on turning takers into givers, he was sure. Biting his lower lip, his frown deepened as he wrestled with the nebulous idea, trying to make it come up for air.

Suddenly, he sat bolt upright. They had tried to take and ended up giving. What if. . . ?

A ridiculous grin spreading across his face, Harry leapt up from his bed and darted across the room. Wrenching open the door, he sprinted down the hallway and down the stairs, hoping that the headmaster had yet to leave. He didn't know if there was any way to make it work, but if there was, it would be _perfect_!

By the time he skid to a stop in the drawing room, the headmaster was scooping up a handful of floopowder.

"Headmaster!" Harry exclaimed.

The headmaster jumped, spinning around, the powder spilling out of his hand as he drew his wand.

Harry froze, eyes widening. "Sorry!" he yelped. He really hadn't meant to startle the wizard. He really had no desire to be on the receiving end of one of Dumbledore's curses, should the older wizard fire first and think later.

The fierce - rather daunting - glint died almost instantly in the headmaster's eyes - something Harry was quite grateful for - and the wizard chuckled, even as he shook a finger at him. "It has been awhile, my boy, since anyone has been able to startle me quite that badly," he offered, shaking his head, the mischievous light back in his eyes. "Is anything wrong?"

Harry shook his head, finally able to move. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "What if we could turn this from something dangerous and dark into something good and . . . and . . . giving?" he asked.

The headmaster frowned, stepping away from the fireplace. "What do you mean?" he asked, looking as puzzled as Harry had ever seen him.

"I mean," Harry began again, trying to get the idea he was so excited about across. Explaining things was Hermione's area, not his. "The two death eaters came to take my power away and thanks to my mother, gave up theirs instead."

"That _is_ what it seems like, Harry," the headmaster agreed.

"Well, is there any way to make it seem like the two of them turned against Voldemort and sacrificed their power in order to defeat him?" he asked eagerly. "I mean, veritiserum can prove they used to have magic and that they attacked me, but is there anyway at all to twist it to make it _seem_ like they did it voluntarily?"

A choked sound behind him had Harry spinning around, just as the headmaster had done, wand out before he even realized he'd drawn it. He stumbled backward when he noticed it was Snape, something of an astonished expression flitting across the older wizard's face. "What?" he asked defensively, pulling himself up to his full - rather unintimidating height. "It's a good idea." He slumped then a little, turning back toward the headmaster. "I just don't know if there's any way at all to make it work."

"A lot would depend on the two we're holding, Harry."

Harry nodded, agreeing. "Yeah, but I imagine they aren't exactly . . . eager to go back to Voldemort after messing things up so badly.

Snape snorted, but Harry ignored the sound for once, keeping his attention on the headmaster.

"Only the right questions would have to be asked in just the right way," Harry mused aloud.

"What are you droning on about, Potter?" Snape sneered.

Harry sighed, but turned so he could see both of them. "I _mean_," he replied, carefully controlling his tone - not an easy task - then paused. "For example, if I was asked - under veritiserum - whether or not someone said 'you are not strong enough', I would have to answer yes, but if that was asked differently, like say, 'what was said next?' then I'd have to say more." He shrugged. "As far as I can tell, the truth serum is very . . . literal - at least it is in all the books I've read so far."

The headmaster was smirking now, the light in his eyes reaching truly epic proportions. "That just might work, my boy," he replied grinning and turning toward Snape. "What do you think, Severus?"

Harry faced the potions master also, just in time to see an expression of shock instantly wiped off the man's face. What was he so shocked about anyway? Surprising him, the headmaster answered his unspoken question - sort of.

"A very . . . Slytherin idea, Harry," he said softly.

Professor Snape snorted, shaking his head. "It's just possible that it might work," he said slowly. "_If_ it is presented in just the right way," he continued, obviously thinking aloud, "veritiserum might not even come into the equation."

"Yes," the headmaster replied, beginning to grin. "After all, why would the ministry be involved at all, if two such heroic young gentlemen decided to _help_ The Boy Who Lived in his ongoing . . . problem with Voldemort." He shook his head, snorting. "At least, the minister is not still denying Voldemort's return. That would make this completely impossible to pull off."

Harry agreed whole-heartedly, but kept quiet. Why remind Snape that he was still here and risk being sent from the room while they planned.

"The biggest stumbling block that I can see," Snape added thoughtfully, "is getting the agreement of the deatheaters. The dark lord will certainly have held something over them to make sure they didn't use his blood against him in any way."

Harry frowned right along with the headmaster. That was a good point.

"The only way to discover what that might be, would be to question the two of them," the headmaster replied, turning back toward the fireplace.

Snape nodded, following suit.

Harry slumped. If they were going to Hogwarts, then he was going to be left out of the rest of it. Merlin forbid that _anyone_ keep him informed - even when it did involve him directly. Last year was a prime example of that. Feeling his resentment rise, right along side that new flush, Harry frowned, and tried to calm himself. The last thing he needed right now was another bout of accidental magic. That would virtually guarantee that he got left behind. He didn't understand it, though. He wasn't even that angry. His magic had never flared up _this_ easily before. He'd always had to be really angry for it to happen. Had what they'd done made _that_ much of a difference? Or was he just not used to it? He certainly hoped it was the second option, because, if not, this was going to get seriously old very, very quickly.

Unfortunately, his efforts at calming himself weren't helping much. Everything he thought of kept adding to his continued resentment.

"Firewart," the headmaster said, abruptly derailing his train of thought. He was grateful for that, because the nicknacks on the table near him stopped shaking.

"What?"

Snape rolled his eyes and turned abruptly toward the fireplace, grabbing a handful of floo powder. "Hogwarts, headmaster's office. Firewart!" he snapped, disappearing in a green flash.

"Firewart is the current password to utilize the floo into my office, Harry," the headmaster offered, holding out the container of powder.

He was going with them! Resentment was instantly buried under a rush of happiness, Harry helped himself to the powder and copied the potions master's exit. As always, he stumbled out of the fireplace, but did manage to stay on his feet this time. He deliberately ignored the professor's snort of amusement at his clumsiness and it was only moments later that the headmaster appeared behind him. _He_ stepped out gracefully, without a twitch or stumble to his credit, carrying the pensieve that held Harry's memory. He growled silently, vowing that one day he _would_ manage to floo or port key without making a fool out of himself.

"Have a seat, Harry," the headmaster said smoothly, crossing the room and pulling Snape with him.

The two had a quick, hushed conversation that Harry could not hear, before the headmaster handed the pensieve to the potions master.

TBC  
Kiristeen ke Alaya  
Feedback: Oh, yes please! It really does help the creative juices.


	3. Chapter 3

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Chapter Three  
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Harry stood in the corner, hidden beneath his invisibility cloak, while he watched Headmaster Dumbledore play the two deatheaters like they were musical instruments. The two, surprisingly not much older than he was, were scared, angry, and confused, all of which made them easy to manipulate. Harry snorted. If there was anything the headmaster was good at, it was manipulating others around to his way of thinking - or at least, around to doing things the way he wanted them done. He should know. The older wizard had certainly successfully manipulated him into things easily enough.

There had been moments, already, that he'd wanted to say something - especially when it had been revealed that their families were what Voldemort was holding against them - but he'd kept his promise to the headmaster and kept quiet, hidden. He was here against Snape's rather vehement protests, so he wasn't about to make the headmaster regret the decision to allow him to watch. Snape, of course, wasn't there. None of them had thought that his presence would aide in getting the deatheaters to cooperate - quite the opposite actually. Nor had they wished to chance revealing the man's true role as spy _for_ the headmaster, rather than against him. Of course, they had no way of knowing whether or not his cover had already been blown. It may very well have.

Harry supposed that it all depended on what motive Voldmort gave for Snape's abrupt departure from the last meeting - not that Snape had been happy about the headmaster revealing what had happened. As much as he intensely disliked the man - okay, hated - Harry really didn't think it was a good idea for the professor to ever go back again.

A knock on the door startled Harry out of his thoughts.

"Poppy?" the headmaster asked, not bothering to remove his eyes from the two bound deatheaters, "could you please answer the door. I suspect it is the answer to the question most prevalent on these two men's minds."

Poppy nodded and quietly slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.

The four of them sat quietly, waiting on the mediwitch's return; though, the two deatheaters were far from calm - not that Harry could blame them, precisely. Fortunately, it didn't take her long to re-enter the room.

"They've already been found, Albus," she said quietly, turning to face their two guests. "I'm sorry."

Both men shook their heads emphatically and Harry could see the overwhelming desire in both of them to deny the whole thing, to not believe the mediwitch's words. He could certainly understand that, but, while he felt immense sympathy for their families and what they had to have endured, he could not get past what they had tried to do to him to truly feel much sympathy for these two as well.

"No," Harrison Rutherford breathed, horror filling his eyes and voice.

Kanbar Yilmez, the younger of the two, didn't say anything at all, but his eyes filled with tears before he clenched them tightly closed.

The headmaster sighed wearily. "I'm truly sorry for your loss," he offered softly.

Rutherford snorted, clearly disbelieving the condolences.

Yilmez still didn't say anything, just shook his head again.

"From this point," the headmaster continued, "there are several ways we can go with this."

Harry tensed. He'd thought they were going one way?

"We could simply let you go, let you return to Voldemort."

Harry clenched his jaw tightly shut to avoid the angry protest that he so wanted to shout. It was only his absolute _need_ to remain and listen that kept him silent this time.

"After all, you _failed_ in what you set out to do," the headmaster continued, not so subtlely emphasising that they had failed. "In fact, you managed to do the exact opposite of what you were supposed to do."

Two sets of eyes widened with nearly comical horror; though, Harry couldn't help but feel a little bit sorry for them this time. The end result may have been poetic justice, but he wouldn't wish the life of a squib on anyone. Well, he conceded silently, he might wish it on one or two people - Voldemort and Wormtail came immediately to mind.

"I'm sure Voldemort would . . . appreciate having you back at this point."

Both Yilmez and Rutherford violently shook their heads.

"No?" the headmaster question, sounding convincingly surprised, and Harry's eyes narrowed in suspicion as he waited and watched the master manipulator. "Well, I suppose we could turn you over to the ministry to be sentenced as deatheaters and for attempted power theft."

Here, the two smirked slightly; though, they quickly wiped the expression from their faces.

"The sentence for being a confirmed deatheater is life in Azkaban. Of course, that sentence would be rather academic really, since the sentence for power theft is the Kiss." Here, the headmaster paused.

_What is he doing?_ Harry wondered, fighting with all his will to keep silent. The wizard obviously had something devious in mind. _The dementors have gone over to Voldemort. He told me that just an hour ago! There aren't any in Azkaban to **give** the Kiss! And life in Azkaban would probably be a blessing to them at this point!_

"Of course, since the dementors are no longer available for such things," the headmaster continued, a knowing glint in his eyes, "the Ministry has transmuted all Kiss sentences to death."

Harry choked. He hadn't known that!

Apparently neither had their two 'guests'. Yilmez was whimpering. Rutherford, drew himself up as straight as he could, given he was currently still tied up.

"I would rather a third option," he said quietly, staring intently at the headmaster. "I assume a third, _better_ option was the whole point of outlining our dreadful choices?"

The headmaster smiled then, his eyes dancing with the completely unmuted mischief and joy for which he was so well known. "Very perceptive," he replied, nodding regally, his tone and body language at complete odds with his expression.

"Anything you want!" Yilmez yelped before the headmaster could explain their idea. "I don't want to die!"

"Shut up, Kanbar!" Rutherford snapped. "Find out what he wants first!"

"I don't care!"

"Well, I do," Rutherford replied smugly, "and I suspect we have to both agree?" he continued, turning the last into a question as he looked back toward the headmaster.

Harry was smirking now, finally having caught on to the headmaster's plan. _Sneaky bastard,_ Harry thought, feeling equally impressed and resentful - a very confusing mixture to be sure.

To the obvious, growing amazement of the two deatheaters, Albus Dumbledore proceeded to outline exactly how the two deatheaters would find themselves lauded as heroes to the wizarding world. He continued, outlining how they would claim to have realized just how insane Voldemort really was; how they assumed that no one could beat him; how they had chosen the one person who seemed to keep coming out of confrontations with the madman relatively unscathed and forced him to accept their magical energies in order to strengthen him enough to beat Voldemort. By the time he was done speaking, both men were sitting slack-jawed and staring at him.

"I'm not turning myself into a squib!" Yilmez exclaimed, horrified, seemingly recovering before the other man.

Rutherford turned a sneering expression towards him in response. "We already _did_ that, Moron!" he snapped impatiently. "Didn't we?" he asked the headmaster.

The headmaster merely nodded in confirmation.

"I suspect," Rutherford continued, frowning, "given how things turned out, that we would have done so, either way."

Harry's eyes widened in shock, knowing almost instantly that the man was probably right. _He_ certainly wouldn't put it past Voldemort to do that very thing; not be satisfied with merely taking Harry's power, but taking the magic of the two unwitting conduits as well.

"I would not be surprised in the least," the headmaster replied quietly.

"I don't see that we have much choice in the matter," Rutherford said after several, long moments. "Death by torture, death by execution, or be lauded as heroes and be in constant danger of death by torture."

The headmaster nodded once again, the light dying just a bit in his eyes. "Those are pretty much your choices in a nutshell," he agreed. "We will, of course, protect you to the best of our abilities should you choose to aide us."

"Better than being thrown out onto the street or left to the ministry's idea of protection, I suppose," Rutherford drawled.

Yilmez nodded emphatically.

Harry almost laughed. Apparently, they thought as much of the ministry as he did - in other words, not very much.

"I've got a couple of problems with this . . . _plan_ of yours," Rutherford continued.

"And those are?"

"Veritiserum and pensieve testimony - if asked for. How will we deal with that?"

"Simple," the headmaster replied, beaming. "We will reinact the scene, only this time a bit differently. I've got someone setting it up right now."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He really didn't like the way this was headed. He did _not_ want to relive that terrifying evening, thank you very much!

Rutherford narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "And just how are we going to do that?" he asked skeptically. "We can't use magic anymore."

_And they're accepting that awfully easy,_ Harry thought, growing worried that they might be planning something. A look toward Yilmez, however, eased his mind on that score - at least as far as the younger of the two deatheaters went. Yilmez was a mess. Rutherford, on the other hand, would need an eye - or three - kept on him at all times, Harry decided firmly. He wasn't about to actually _trust_ the man.

"As I said, that is being taken care of as we speak. We should be able to complete the reinactment by midnight tonight. As for Veritiserum," the headmaster offered, "if it comes to that, we will simply have to be very careful how the questions are phrased."

x-x-x

"That's what you and Professor Snape were talking about in your office wasn't it?" Harry accused, as much as asked, slipping off his invisibility cloak the moment the door to the private ward closed behind them. He could feel his body flush hot and cold at the same time, but he didn't really pay much attention to that. He was too interested in what the headmaster was going to say.

"What was, Harry?" the headmaster asked.

Harry rolled his eyes, knowing damn well the headmaster knew exactly what he was talking about. "The so-called reinactment!" he snapped, flinching as a bottle on the nearby bedside table shattered.

"Yes, it was, Harry."

"And you didn't think it important that I know about it?" He asked angrily. It was the same as always. The headmaster planned and manipulated the lives of everyone around him, seemingly without a single thought to whether or not they were interested in what he was 'arranging'. All Harry's old resentments and anger came roaring out of him. His body flushed hotter and it suddenly felt like electricity was once again dancing across his skin. The beds in the infirmary's main ward began to shake, along with the bedside tables and everything on them. The shattering of a second glass vial was enough to momentarily shock him out of the worst of his sudden rage, though. Every item settled abruptly, sending a resounding thud through the room. Several glass vials fell, also shattering as they hit the floor.

Harry winced again, knowing he was going to be in trouble for that. He'd got away with trashing the headmaster's office once, but he didn't think he'd get away with a second such outburst. "I'm sorry," he ground out. He _was_ sorry, but hadn't managed to rid himself of all the residual anger that had caused the outburst in the first place, which made it difficult to stop clenching his teeth. Perhaps his apology might have sounded a bit more sincere if he'd waited until he _had_ managed to relax.

"Quite alright, my boy," the headmaster replied evenly, surprising Harry. "I suspect that until you learn some control over your new magic levels, things like this will be happening quite frequently."

_What? He wasn't in trouble?_

Harry took a deep breath, trying to relax. Throwing a magical tantrum certainly wasn't going to impress anyone with his so-called 'maturity'. He had to learn to control this. Once he'd managed to relax enough that he was fairly certain he could at least speak civilly, he nodded slowly. "Yes, I was angry," he admitted, "but it shouldn't have been enough to do-" He waved his hand vaguely at the whole of the infirmary. "-that," he continued. "I certainly wasn't as angry as I was-" He paused, almost unwilling to continue, his grief suddenly welling up to consume him. "-after the ministry," he finally managed to choke out.

"It won't take much right now, Harry," the headmaster informed him. "You have no clue how to contain the power you now hold. It will take you time and effort to get to a point where getting the least bit angry doesn't produce some sort of magical outburst."

Harry's frown deepened. "I think, maybe, I should tell you that I get angry really easily lately," he admitted, dropping his head to stare at his feet. He didn't like admitting that he was having trouble controlling his temper. "It doesn't take much to set me off."

"Considering the stress you're under right now; that doesn't surprise me at all, Harry."

Harry's head snapped up, surprised by the headmaster's continued understanding. His eyes narrowed as he suddenly wondered if he was being 'handled' again. In Harry's experience, no adult reacted the way the headmaster was doing while kids - or teenagers - yelled at them, especially when said teenagers had the kind of power that Harry suspected he now had. His eyes narrowed as it fully dawned him that was _exactly_ what the headmaster was doing.

Using every ounce of willpower he had, Harry remained calm and quiet, his magic not flaring . . . much. "I really don't appreciate being 'handled', Professor," he said relatively calmly, trying for civil.

The headmaster tilted his head and watched him curiously for several moments. "Would you prefer I yelled at you?" he asked, sounding truly curious.

"Yes!" Harry snapped. "At least that would be honest."

"You think by remaining calm that I'm not being honest with you, Harry?"

Harry rolled his eyes. The man was _still_ doing it. "Of course you're not," he replied. "No one who's honest about their reactions stays as calm as you seem to, Headmaster."

"I haven't found that yelling actually accomplishing anything," he offered quietly.

"Neither does brushing off losing control like it's . . . cute or something," Harry retorted.

"Imagine that-" Snape drawled from behind him, startling the daylights out of him. The sound of shattered glass certainly didn't help calm his nerves any, either.

Harry spun around, gasping.

"-a Potter making sense."

Harry sneered right back at the Professor, but managed to keep his mouth shut. He was on overload right now and really didn't think he could actually feel anything more. Or maybe he was just numb to it all. Too much had happened in such a short span of time. He let out a short, quickly stifled giggle, slapping a mortified hand over his mouth. He couldn't believe _that_ sound had come out of _his_ mouth! It was official. He needed some down time. Maybe if he got a couple of hours where absolutely nothing new flew in his face, he might actually be able to get back on an even keel.

"Albus?"

Harry jumped at the mediwitch's voice.

"Yes, Poppy?" the headmaster asked quietly, turning toward the witch. "Is something wrong with our two guests?"

"There's nothing medically wrong," Madam Pomfrey said quietly, sounding oddly . . . hesitant.

Harry frowned, wondering just what had gone wrong now.

"What _is_ wrong, then?" the headmaster asked the woman, his head tilting to the side inquisitively.

Sighing, Madam Pomfrey shook her head. "I think you need to see this to believe it."

His expression briefly one of rather strong surprise, the headmaster nodded and stepped toward her. As she led him back to the room where they were keeping the two of them, Harry fidgeted restlessly, wondering if he could get away with following. A quick glance at the professor still standing next to him and the stern glare directed his way told Harry that no, in no uncertain terms could he get away with it. He sighed and waited where he was; though, he didn't manage to do so without shifting restlessly several times.

It was only Snape's irritated sigh after his fourth side to side shift that kept Harry from actively beginning to pace. He was sure that would get him snapped at.

Thankfully, the headmaster opened the door before he simply could not stand still any longer. "Would the two of you come in here for a moment, please," the headmaster asked, disappearing back into the room.

His frown deepening even further, Harry moved forward, intent on getting this over with. What the hell else had gone wrong now? He figured it out the moment he stepped into the room. He stopped suddenly, having reached no further than the doorway. Yilmez's arm was bared, his left arm. Where Harry would have expected to see the dark mark was a far different mark, one that made Harry's heart stop in his chest and his blood freeze in his veins. He couldn't move another step. Not even Professor Snape's growl from behind him could get him to move. It was only when the impatient professor physically pushed past him that Harry moved at all, and that was only to keep himself from falling, his eyes never once leaving the man's marked arm.

Professor Snape didn't make it very far into the room either. He stopped just as quickly as Harry had.

In place of the mark was a lightening bolt crossed with a sword. Within the v's created was a stag and a dog, one on each side of the primary symbols. In the bottom V was a moon. Last, but not least, nestled in the top V above it all, was a single lily. It was at once beautiful and horrifying.

Beside him, the professor gasped, stepping further into the room. "I _knew_ something more had happened!"

"What?" Harry managed to ask, still not able to take his eyes off the colorful mark.

"What do you mean, Severus?" the headmaster demanded firmly.

Severus shook himself, turning his eyes to the headmaster. "I mean, the words of the ritual, as things stood, couldn't have been reversed. The spell was written in such a way to take into account the mediaries in between Potter and the dark lord. Something had to change for it to reverse properly. Potter didn't have a vassal, so Lily created one. Either she did, or the ritual did, one or the other.

Harry gaped at the professor, barely able to take in the man's words. He almost snorted. At least the man wasn't accusing him of doing it himself, on purpose.

Eyes narrowed, the headmaster assessed them both, then turned to face their two guests. After several eternally long moments, he sighed. "Well, then," he said quietly, "this changes things a bit."

_A bit!_ Harry exclaimed silently, his jaw dropping open as he goggled at the man - the insane man.

Professor Snape just snorted, shaking his head.

Harry ignored him.

"We will have to do the reinactment with only one of them. We can't very well use both of them when, not only does only one of them bear the dark mark, the other bears a mark that would deeply implicate Harry to anyone who knew anything about his history."

"We'll have to change the wording also," Professor Snape added, gaining both his and the headmaster's full attention. "We will need to remove the sections refering to vassals and liege lords," he continued. "In case anyone does see the memory and knows enough to translate the latin."

"Yes, quite right, Severus. And it's not like it truly needs to work, so no worries about proper procedure."

Snape nodded. "Agreed."

"Everything in hand for that?" the headmaster asked suddenly.

"Yes," Snape replied firmly. "The twins were able to modify two of their fake wands to produce the effect we're looking for."

"And the ROR?"

"Already set up and waiting."

"Excellent," the headmaster praised, smiling. "Misters Yilmez and Rutherford have both agreed to the plan and to the reinactment. Of course, now we will be using only Mr. Rutherford."

"You'll be requiring him to swear an oath to that effect, I hope?" Snape asked. "And Mr Yilmez an oath of silence?"

The headmaster nodded. "Yes, of course. We can't have them changing their minds when it's convenient, after all."

Harry sighed. He could tell there was no way he was getting out of this, out of reliving one of his newest worst memories. It lagged behind several others, of course, but it still rated high on his 'unpleasant list'. And really, he _could_ see that it needed done. With what they were trying to pull off here, they had to be able to answer certain ways if Fudge got . . . finicky. Who knew what that man could pull if he put his mind to it. Harry just wished he could be included in the decisions _about his life_!

"Headmaster?" he asked stepping closer to the two men. He got both their full attention, one sneering, one not. He focused on the headmaster. It was a little better for his peace of mind . . . not to mention the surrounding breakables. He was _really_ going to have to do something about that and soon!

"Yes, Harry?" the headmaster asked.

"Is there any chance of getting a little bit of down time before this 'reinactment' happens?" he asked. "It's just I need a little time to-"

"Understandable, dear boy," the headmaster replied. "A lot has happened in a short period of time."

Snape snorted, rolling his eyes.

Harry bristled and tried to ignore the reaction. He didn't do very well.

"I can let you have about an hour, Harry," he continued. "We really need to get this done quickly. Considering the lengths Minister Fudge went to the last time you needed to use magic to protect yourself, we need to have everything ready in case he goes all out once again."

"I still say there's no need for all this," Snape sneered. "I don't like turning either one of those two into _heroes_. Potter was protecting himself from attack. He got off last time. There's no reason to believe he won't this time."

The headmaster nodded. "You're quite right, Severus."

Harry gaped, while Snape smirked.

"And if all that had happened was that Harry had protected himself, then we would let things unfold as they would. There is ample evidence to prove self-defense," Dumbledore explained patiently. "However, that is not _all_ that happened."

Snape huffed rolling his eyes. "Of course not!" he snapped.

"Severus, you know as well as I, regardless of the fact that it was not Harry's doing, he still took the magic from those two. That will raise fear in people. We cannot let public confidence in Harry go down again. With the official acknowledgement of Voldemort's return, people will panic."

Snape snarled and spun away.

"An hour and a half in the Room of Requirement, Severus."

"I am aware, Albus."

Harry frowned, deep in thought as the headmaster led him toward Gryffindor tower. The entire situation had taken a turn to the surreal. What he couldn't believe was that - beyond taking into account just how it changed what they needed to do - no one had said _anything_ about the new mark on Yilmez's arm. To Harry it was a very, _very_ significant thing. How could it simply be a . . . bump in the road to everyone else? It just didn't make any sense.

x-x-x

Severus groaned as he leaned back in the infirmary bed. The overnight stay that Poppy wanted was out of the question, of course, since he had to be in the ROR in less than three quarters of an hour - something to be grateful for, he supposed. Unfortunately, he hadn't managed to talk her out of staying right where he was until it was time for that reinactment. Wincing as he shifted, Severus ruefully acknowledged some amount of thanks to the chair he tumbled over after being hit by Potter's accidental outburst. He knew full well that if his momentum had not been mitigated by the relatively soft obstacle, he would have suffered far more than a few broken ribs - most of the breaks mere fractures.

The brat had never struck him as being particularly powerful before this, quite talented - loathe though he was to admit it - in defensive and offensive spells, but not powerful. That would change now. Neither deatheater had been very powerful. Yilmez hadn't been much better than a squib; though he usually had the intelligence to use what power he had to good effect. Rutherford was also below average as well, but had enough power to have been accepted at Hogwarts, had he not gone to Durmstrang.

Their power as _boosts_, however, told an entirely different story.

Severus shuddered just thinking about the possibilities. The Potter brat having that much power scared him, not that he'd admit that to anyone, save - perhaps - Albus. Albus would understand his reasons, even if he disagreed with the source. Albus was so bloody blind where the boy was concerned, so certain that his efforts at hiding the boy in the muggle world during his youngest years had saved him from the arrogance his fame would have brought about. Anyone could see the boy was arrogance personified! Anyone _other_ than Albus, of course.

And now, one person was marked as _his_. It didn't really matter that he wasn't the one who'd done the marking - not that Severus could see how that would work - the fact remained that he had a vassal. He supposed time would tell just how it would affect the boy. A lot would depend on the attitude of Yilmez, he was certain. The Turkish man couldn't hold the boy in much esteem, given that he'd joined the dark lord in the first place, which would help offset the circumstances of having someone at his command. Sighing deeply, Severus shook his head. He would simply have to keep puncturing that arrogant ego and hope it would be enough, suddenly picturing James Potter with the kind of power the junior Potter now had. It really didn't bear thinking about and he shoved the thought violently away. It was enough by itself to give him nightmares, and he had more than enough of those already! He didn't want to think about it any more. Unfortunately, every time he tried to stop, he started thinking about Lily, and that wasn't really any better.

Thankfully, his musing was interrupted by the arrival of Albus, and he turned his full attention to the man gratefully.

"It's time?" he asked, rising as he spoke. As much as he didn't want to do this, it was certainly better than rotting in hospital. He loathed the weakness represented by being stuck in the infirmary. It was also better than letting his thoughts run away with themselves.

x-x-x  
_"You are not strong enough to hurt my son!" whispered a fierce female voice and Harry snapped his eyes open in shock. **Who?** What he saw now made him gasp. He was surrounded by a thick, white and grey fog and the spells headed toward him had slowed, inching forward as if in slow motion. He watched, mesmerized, as four thin tendrils of the fog reached out toward the slowly moving spells._

The deatheater on his right whipped out a large glass vial, flipping the cork out with his thumb. The moment the cork was free of the opening, the fog surrounding him was sucked away from him.

"Nooo!" Harry screamed, somehow knowing that the fog would save his life. Horror filled him as he watched the fog being sucked into the vial, compressing as it filled the relatively small space. He struggle harder, desperate now to break free.

"I'm sooorrrrryyyy," called out two harmonic voices, male and female, the remnants of the voices as whispy as the rapidly dissipating fog.

Harry choked, tears pouring down his face. Now, nothing remained between him and the deatheaters.

The moment the fog - his parents? - was completely contained, the red spell light surged forward and hit him square in his chest. He screamed, terror and excruciating pain filling him as he glowed red, the light condensing until it was a bright ball centered at his abdomen. Lightening shot out, impacting the deatheaters and he felt the magic being ripped from him. He felt as if his internal organs were being torn from his body one by one.

The propped up front door blew into the room, sailing across the room between himself and the two deatheaters. Through everything he was experiencing, Harry's terror rose even higher as none other than Voldemort himself was standing in the door frame.

Harry startled awake, sitting bolt upright in bed, his hand automatically clamping onto his scar. It always hurt when he dreamed of Voldemort. It took several heart-pouding seconds before he realized that it didn't this time. It hadn't the other four times he'd bolted awake tonight, either.

He whimpered in frustration. All he wanted to do was sleep. He was _so_ tired. Unfortunately, despite how smoothly the reinactment had gone, he was now reliving the real moment in his dreams; dreams that were as far from reality as the 'reinactment' had been. Suddenly not wanting anything to do with sleep, Harry climbed out of bed. Grabbing some clothes, he slowly made his way to the bathroom. Maybe a shower would help relax him.

He washed mechanically, as his mind kept wandering back to the dual-colored fog. In reality, he'd only heard one voice, a female; his mother presumably. In the dream, however, he'd heard a man's voice, too, a voice he knew all too well was his father's, having heard it taunt Snape. _'Is the dream right,'_ he wondered. _Has my father been with me this whole time too?_ Harry didn't know, and knew no way to find out for sure. He didn't really want to confide his concerns to the headmaster right now, and he _certainly_ wasn't going to ask for Snape's opinion on the matter! He shook himself free of his unanswerable thoughts, turned off the shower and stepped out of the stall.

By the time he was dried and dressed, he knew for a fact that he wasn't going to get any more sleep, at least not right then. He strode back to the dorm, dove into his trunk, and grabbed the first book he came to. If nothing else, maybe it would keep his mind occupied enough to keep it away from taboo subjects.

Moments later, he was settled down in the common room, on the sofa next to the inactive fireplace. Unfortunately, it wasn't until then that Harry noticed which book he'd grabbed. It was last year's defence against the dark arts text. He snorted, rolling his eyes. That class had been next to useless; though, he supposed the book itself _might_ have a few useful ideas - not that he was holding out much hope for that. Umbridge had chosen it, after all, and he certainly hadn't found it to be much help when he'd been searching for things to teach the DA.

It didn't take long for his memory to be proven right. The book _was_ pretty much useless; though, he supposed _some_ of the theory might actually be right. It just didn't help him much, beyond keeping his mind occupied. Actually, it didn't even do that very well. His mind kept returning to the hauntingly beautiful mark on Yilmez's arm. It was an amazing drawing, and under other circumstances it would make a beautiful tattoo, but considering what it actually was, it kind of made him feel a little sick to his stomach. He shook himself and tried to return his attention to the text book. Eventually, however, he threw it down in disgust. All it was doing was reminding him of things he didn't want reminded of. He really wished he'd picked just about any book other than this one. He snorted. At this point, frankly, he would have even given Hogwarts: A History a whirl!

He really didn't want to bother going back up to the dorm, but it only took about 10 minutes of staring in mind-numbing boredom - only half successful in keeping his mind from things he absolutely refused to think about - to convince him to make the trek. This time, when he selected a book, he double checked to make sure what it was. Heaven forbid he end up with his history of magic text!

It was only a matter of minutes until he was back on the sofa, this time with his charms text and he settled in to read. He found, to his great surprise, that there were things in there that he'd missed from last year. Until now, he had thought he'd really studied his charms. It was his second best subject, after all, and he'd always enjoyed the class with Professor Flitwick. A frown forming , his attention wandered from the book, and it was then he noticed it was now nearly fully light outside. With a sigh of relief, he jumped up from the sofa, leaving the charms book behind and strode for the common room exit. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have been too awfully worried about leaving before full morning, but with his temper and his magic both so out of sorts, he simply didn't dare have a run in with either Snape or Filch. Who knew what would happen. As much as it . . . irritated him, Snape's taunting challenges from last year's occlumency lessons drifted through his mind.

He sighed. He didn't like admitting it, but he really did need to learn to control his temper. It got him into all too much trouble. He winced as it occurred to him that with his magic so wonky at the moment, he could very well hurt someone accidently right now. His eyes narrowing, and jaw clenching tightly, he nodded once, swithcing directions. His goal suddenly set, he strode toward the library. He didn't know if it was open during the summer, or whether it was actually locked up, but he hoped not the latter. He hoped it was kept open for the convenience of anyone who remained during any part of the summer - not that he was sure that anyone normally did. As far as he knew, everyone that was here now, was here because of him - not something that sat comfortably with him at all.

Though it seemed like it, it did not take overly long to reach the library and it was with an explosive breath of relief that he found the door unlocked, opening easily under his hand. Once inside, however, he stalled a bit, uncertain where to go. Unlike a muggle library, things weren't exactly arranged according to the convenient - if odd - dewey decimal system. Added to that, he wasn't exactly certain just what 'topic' he was looking for. Oh, he was sure what he wanted was there, because even muggles had the subject covered. He was fairly certain, however, that he wasn't going to find a book entitled Temper Control. Which meant he was going to have to . . . wing it, of course.

After several moments spent utterly blank of ideas, his frown deepened. Snape had said something about emotional control being the key to learning occlumency, that strong emotions drew a legillimens like a moth to flame. So maybe he'd find the answers to both questions in the same general area. With that in mind, he moved toward the shelves. What would the dual subject he was looking for be covered under? Mind Arts, maybe? He shrugged. It was as good a starting place as any, he supposed. After all, both occlumency and temper control had to do with the mind.

He'd located several books that might be useful - nothing on occlumency, specifically, though - and had settled down to study them when he jumped out of his skin when the library door slammed open.

He spun around, wand out before he realized what he was doing. Thankfully, he realized it was the headmaster with . . . a goblin? . . . before he actually cast a spell. "Sorry," he mumbled sheepishly, pocketing his wand as he half shrugged and turned back to his reading, only to discover that his belongings, and the books he'd found, had scattered off the table. He slumped and began gathering them all up again, hoping that none of the books had been damaged from yet another magical flare.

_At least this time it wasn't anger,_ he thought morosely. By the time he finished picking up his things, the headmaster and the goblin were still there, now sitting at _his_ table. _Oh, this can't be good._ Dropping his things down onto the table and himself into a chair, he cast a glance at the goblin - not one he knew - and nodded in acknowledgement before turning to focus on the headmaster. "Is there a problem, sir?" he asked quietly. _When isn't there?_

TBC  
Kiristeen ke Alaya  
Feedback: A fanfic author's only source of reward and the air a muse breathes!


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Well, FFN pulled a nasty on me. ::pouts:: In the beginning chapter, I had the pairings whited out, and it needed to be highlighted to see it - for those who absolutely _had_ to know the pairings ahead of time. :( When I posted it, FFN, changed it so it was automatically visible. Sometimes I _really_ don't like FFN! ::sighs::

Disclaimer: (forgotten in chapter one) I hold no rights to the Harry Potter universe. JKR, her publishers, producers, and assigned heirs hold such rights. No copyright infringement is intended with this story, and I will make no money from it.

Thank you for your gracious reviews!  
Makaem: 1. Now you know. : ) 2. No, they're dead, he killed them and had them hauled out of the room in chapter one. 3. Nope 4. Yes, in this chapter, actually.  
Kynnetic: Not really, Harry is simply becoming older and trying to assert his independence the only way he knows how. Right now, he's stuck, and his only freedom is his thoughts.  
History: Hate is as blind as love is, I'm afraid. Snape cannot - or perhaps refuses - to see beyond what he chooses to see. They probably did talk to him about it, but it was done 'offscreen'. It may come up later in the series as things settle back into a routine. Of course, with the headmaster keeping things close to his chest, like he usually does, any actions he takes to discover what's going on may not come out into the open - or may end up a major point of contention later on. . . . Only time will tell. : )~

xxxxxxxxxx  
Chapter Four  
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Lucius stumbled into Malfoy Manor, exhausted from the meeting and shaking from the cruciatus. He didn't think there was a single inner circle deatheater that had made it out of that meeting without suffering some form of punishment this time. He had never seen the dark lord so absolutely out-of-control furious before, which - considering the states of rage he'd seen the wizard in - had certainly been a terrifying sight to behold. When the wizard's ire had fallen on him, he hadn't been altogether certain he would live though it, and while he was grateful he had, he almost wished he hadn't. Everything hurt!

He made it to his private study without running across his family, for which he was also grateful, and headed straight for the potions cabinet. Severus kept him well supplied with everything he could possibly need following a standard meeting. He just hoped it was enough to cover this. He did _not_ wish to meet with his son in his current state - or anything resembling it. Unfortunately, the conversation was long overdue and could no longer be put off. Traditionally, this topic was raised shortly after a Malfoy child's 15th birthday, and that had come and gone already. He simply hadn't been up to having it last summer, nor did he particularly want to have it now. While he still believed in what the dark lord _said_ he was working toward, he didn't want his son anywhere near the madman.

Several revolting potions later, he headed straight for his private shower. His son could wait until he felt clean again.

x-x-x

Harry trembled as he stared at the package sitting so innocently on the table in front of him - his own personal ghost. According to the goblin who'd brought it, Ganderloft, his mother had left it with them just before she and his father had gone under fidelius, with instructions for it to be delivered to him the first day of the summer before his 16th birthday. They hadn't been able to, due to the wards surrounding his residence. Harry had frowned at that. He'd never had any trouble receiving mail or visitors before.

_Not to mention the deatheaters got through just fine!_

Then it dawned on him. He'd only been home a matter of hours, then gone on to Grimauld place. The goblins wouldn't have been able to find Grimauld. Of course, after that, he'd been here, at Hogwarts, but that had already been very late at night. He imagined that goblins, unlike owls, didn't 'deliver' at all hours of the day.

"Would you prefer I stay or leave, Harry?" the headmaster asked, breaking into his silent figuring.

He looked up, a little startled. He and the headmaster were the only two in the room. Apparently, he'd missed the goblin's departure.

He frowned, then realized just what the headmaster had asked. "You can stay, Headmaster," he replied absently, returning his attention to the package. No matter what was in it, it was something that his mother had held in her hands. In fact, she had been the very last person to touch whatever was hidden inside.

"Perhaps, Harry," the headmaster suggested softly, "it might be easier to figure out what's in it, if you open it."

Harry snorted a laugh. _Of course it would,_ he thought. Unfortunately, that would end the mystery. It would end the hope that this was something good. He had an uneasy feeling that whatever was inside would not be good at all; would, in fact, turn his life upside down . . . again. He didn't know why he thought that, beyond the fact that nothing seemed to be going right in his life at the moment. He just couldn't shake the feeling that he _really_ didn't want to open this package from the past.

He sighed, flicking a glance at the headmaster. As ever, the man was sitting calmly, no hint of impatience showing. What bothered Harry, however, was the fact that there was also no hint of a twinkle in the older wizard's eyes. If he disagreed with Harry's gut feeling about the package, his eyes would have been dancing a merry jig. Shaking off the thought, he once again returned his attention to the package; only this time, he reached out and carefully began opening it.

x-x-x

Lucius barely resisted sighing as he settled himself into his chair and waited for Mistly to fetch Draco. Now that the time had come, however, he was at something of a loss as to how to explain what his son was going to go through. The boy would begin to feel the . . . pull soon. In fact, it could be in as little as a few months, to as much as a year from now. There was no way to know for sure. One thing was certain, however. He was not going to follow the example his own father had set.

"There you are, Lucius," his father said sternly. "It certainly took you long enough to answer my summons."

Lucius nodded, acknowledging his father's words. "Yes, Sir. It won't happen again," was all he said in reply. That was usually best with the old man. He never listened to reasons, no matter how legitimate, instead calling them pathetic excuses. When _he_ called, you were to come, instantly. Not even dismemberment would be excuse enough not to appear promptly! It wouldn't have mattered to the old man that he'd been in the shower when the house elf had popped into his room. Of course, if he hadn't taken the time to make sure he was perfectly attired he would have been chastised for that instead.

"Sit, boy," his father said, pulling him instantly from his resentful thoughts.

Instantly doing as he was told, Lucius centered his attention on his father, intensely curious as to what the man wanted.

"The Malfoy family was long ago granted the ability to instinctively seek out the most powerful wizard around us. Furthermore, we will always be able to sense what that wizard will want from us, as well as being blessed with the ability to actually give them that very thing.

Lucius' eyes widened. That was quite the gift! No wonder their family had always prospered! To always know what a powerful wizard wanted from him; it was a dream come true. His mind was instantly whirling with plans. He frowned then.

_**Instinctively** seek out?_

"Pay attention, Lucius Abraxus Malfoy!"

Lucius started in surprise. "Sorry, Father," he replied quietly. "When you say 'instinctively'; do we _have_ to follow the instinct?"

Scowling, his father leaned forward. "Why wouldn't you want to?" he demanded intently.

Lucius barely resisted the urge to shrug. There were any number of reason not to go to any specific wizard, regardless of how powerful they may be. The most powerful wizard Lucius had met was the headmaster, and he certainly had no intentions of having anything to do with the barmy old man the instant he graduated. The man _liked_ mudbloods! "What if," he began, carefully phrasing his words, "the most powerful wizard we know believes . . . odd things?"

His father laughed. "You have no need to worry there, Lucius. I'm going to introduce you to a wizard this weekend. He is the most powerful wizard to ever live."

Of course, what his father had neglected to mention was the overpowering _need_ to follow said 'powerful wizard', how it was a nearly irresistible urge that drove you to do whatever you needed to do to please and gain approval from them - the downside to what would have otherwise been a blessing. The old man had also neglected to mention the origins of the curse. Lucius had, had to research out the cause himself. Of course, he'd long since destroyed all written evidence of it, not wanting it to fall into the wrong hands. He sighed just as the door opened and Draco strode into the room.

"You sent for me, Father?"

"Yes, Draco," he replied evenly. "Have a seat. We are overdue for a rather . . . complicated discussion.

x-x-x

Albus watched Harry with a faint frown, concern spiking through him when Harry's eyes filled. The young man seemed to wilt right in front of him, as if something vital, necessary to survival, was being leeched out as he sat there and watched. He started to reach out, to comfort, but a soft, high pitched keening started from the boy and it froze him in place for a split second. "Harry?" he whispered fearfully. _What is in that letter?_

Harry's head shot up, the plaintive sound cutting off abruptly. The look of utter desolation in the green eyes nearly undid Albus completely.

"No!" Harry whispered faintly, then, all but throwing the old piece of parchment at him, sped from the room, leaving it and the package on the table.

His frown deepening, Albus almost called out. He almost ran after the boy. He chose, instead, to find out just what he was dealing with before deciding what to do. A quick glance inside the open package showed it was filled with an old pensieve and three small memory bottles. _What?_

Reaching for the letter which had floated to the floor, Albus took a deep breath and began reading, determined to find out exactly what had driven Harry to such despair.

"Dear mother of Merlin!" Albus breathed, and all but raced from the library. He had to find Harry before the poor boy did something foolish.

Just outside the library, Albus virtually ran into Severus. "Sorry," he muttered absently, most of his attention focused on where he might find the boy.

"Albus, that boy is out of control," Severus snapped.

"Which w-"

"He barrelled into me, knocking me to the floor, then refused to stop when I tried to-"

"Severus!"

Severus blinked in surprise at the shout. "What?"

"Which way did Harry go?"

The man's nearly perpetual frown deepened further. "He was rushing toward the upper floors, _presumably_ to Gryffindor tower."

"Thank you," Albus replied.

"What's going on?" Severus demanded harshly.

In reply, Albus shoved the letter into his hand and hurried after Harry, glad the letter would explain, since he had neither the time nor the inclination to explain it.

Thankfully, the stairs cooperated with him; they didn't always. Hogwarts really was a rather fickle entity. She could usually be counted on during times of crisis, but not being human - nor fully sentient - often defined crisis somewhat differently than the lowly mortals who moved within her walls. As thankful as Albus was for it, he was also somewhat worried what her cooperation might portend. It certainly did not bode well for the situation to Albus' mind.

x-x-x

When the shock wore off, Severus was surprised to find himself on the floor. He remembered neither sitting, nor - alternately - collapsing there. Absently thankful that no one else was present to see him make such a spectacle of himself, he stood and strode after the headmaster, the shocking letter from the past clutched tightly in one hand. Anyone would be upset at discovering the unbelievable contents of the letter, the truth of Lily's full sacrifice. It had shocked _him_ and he had already figured out what had happened. And with Potter's new power levels and already unstable emotions, there was no telling what kind of damage the brat could do. Albus would need all the help he could get.

Snarling out the default summer password, Severus stepped inside the Gryffindor common room - a place he'd sworn years ago that he would never, ever, set foot in.

_Yet another thing to lay at Potter's arrogant feet,_ he thought bitterly.

It took only minutes to discover that he was completely alone, neither Potter nor Albus was there. _I **loath** chasing after children!_ he snarled silently, quickly making his way out of lion territory.

"Point me, Harry Potter," he ground out through clenched teeth the moment he stepped out into the hall. His wand pointed upward and to the south.

His eyes widened as a horrifying thought occured to him. _The astronomy tower!_ Hoping he was wrong and the boy wouldn't be so unbelievably, arrogantly, ungrateful, but fearing he was, Severus took off at a dead run. He allowed only a small portion of his mind to notice - and be surprised by - the fact that the bloody unpredictable stairs were perfectly lined up for him to take the shortest route to the tower.

He put on another, adrenaline boosted, burst of speed at what the castle's cooperation might mean, and it took him a surprisingly short amount of time to reach the tower. Out of breath, he slowed as he neared the circular room.

He tensed further when he heard Albus speaking, the headmaster's overly calm, soothing tones doing absolutely nothing to ease his fears. Potter's response, however, chilled him.

The boy laughed, the sound beyond hysterical.

"You think I'm going to try and kill myself?" he asked incredulously, his voice a shrill octave above its normal annoying level.

_Well, yes,_ Severus thought, snorting derisively; though quietly. _Why **else** would you have hightailed it to the astronomy tower?_ He couldn't see them, but didn't dare get closer and risk being seen. He didn't want to interrupt what appeared to be a stand off. As much as he disliked Potter, he had absolutely no wish to be responsible for possibly pushing this confrontation the wrong way. He did _not_ want to do the dark lord's work for him!

"That did have me a little concerned," Albus admitted softly, "when I figured out where you'd run to."

Potter's chilling laugh sounded again, making Severus shudder and wonder just how loose the brat's grasp on sanity really was, his mind automatically supplying him with a mental picture of Harry Potter acting very much like Belatrix Lastrange. It was _not_ a pleasant picture.

"You are really incredible, Headmaster," Potter sneered. "And I thought you knew me at least a little."

_What?_

"I would like to think I do, Harry," Albus replied quietly. "It's just that everyone has a breaking point, and you have been through so very much in the last few days."

"My mother gave up her immortal _soul_, in addition to her life, to protect me!" Potter shouted.

_So,_ Severus thought, surprised, _he **does** understand what that letter meant._

"I really would be as arrogant as Professor Snape accuses me of being if I threw that away like so much garbage, like whatever I felt was more important than that."

Severus gasped, beyond surprised that Potter had even that much insight. The very notion conflicted with everything he'd ever seen in the brat.

"You _are_ more important, Harry."

_Not in this sodding lifetime, or the next!_ Severus thought viciously. Lily was worth ten Potters.

"No, I'm not," Potter insisted angrily. "I'm not even worth her life."

_At least you realize that!_

"Everyone would be better off if she'd let him kill me, if she'd run."

Severus' mind went blank for a moment. The boy _was_ suicidal after all, just . . . unwilling to follow through on it?

"Harry," Albus began, only be interrupted.

"Don't worry, Headmaster," Potter spat, his voice far more scathing than Severus had ever heard it - especially directed at the headmaster. "I'll be your weapon. I'll kill Voldemort, or die trying. I won't kill myself."

"You are much more than just some weapon, Harry."

Potter snorted derisively.

"Perhaps, Harry," Albus tried again, "we should return to the library. Viewing the memories your mother left you, might help."

_Memories!_ Severus yelped mentally, barely keeping himself from doing so out loud. _Lily left the boy memories?_ Unadulterated jealousy raged through him for several seconds until he managed to wrestle the inappropriate feeling into near submission. He couldn't still it completely, however, and its remnants burned like hot coals in his chest. He frowned. _Why are they only now being brought out?_

"Yeah, alright," Potter replied, sighing heavily, and echoing the boy's sigh, Severus breathed out in relief. No matter the boy's words, he had still been worried the brat would try to off himself.

The moment he heard movement, Severus shook himself free of his thoughts and hurriedly schooled his features, stepping forward and presenting himself as if he'd just arrived; as if he hadn't heard what had to have been most - if not all - of their very private conversation.

"So _there_ you are," he sneered. He had to hide his shock when he laid eyes on the boy. Tears actively fell down his face and his swollen eyes and red, blotchy face, gave testiment to the fact that he'd been crying for quite some time.

"Indeed we are, Severus," Albus replied as cheerfully as if they hadn't just been speaking of death, destruction, and other such mayhem.

The boy merely glared at him, rudely pushing past him and out into the hall.

Severus shook his head, sneering. The boy's expression was even less effective than normal, coming as it did from the tear streaked face.

x-x-x

"You mean I'll be able to sense other people's power levels?" Draco asked, smirking. He really wasn't seeing the downside to this and wondered why in Morgana's name, his father considered it a curse.

"No," his father replied sharply, "you will only be able to sense who around you is the most powerful."

_Oh._ Well, that wasn't nearly as useful as the other, but still, he didn't see why it was a bad thing. He admitted as much to his father. After all, it would certainly be helpful in knowing who to support in order to assure their own gain. It certainly made him less wary of being marked by the dark lord. If that wizard was who his father had chosen to support, then it stood to reason that said wizard was the most powerful his father knew. And considering his father had met both the dark lord _and_ Dumbledore - who was often touted as being the most powerful wizard of their time - that had to mean that the dark lord was even more powerful, right?

Of course, it could just mean that his father refused to support Dumbledore . . . all things considered.

But then the other curse fell as what his father was saying now began to penetrate his thoughts.

"You mean we're _compelled_ to follow the strongest?" he asked, appalled. Malfoy's were supposed to leaders, not followers - at least that's what the man sitting across from him had always taught him.

"Compelled is a very strong word, Draco, but, essentially, yes."

"So _that's_ why you call it a curse, then."

"I call it a cruse because it is one," his father replied firmly. "If it were merely being able to seek out the most powerful wizard and know what we _could_ do that would best appease that person, then it would be a blessing. As it is," he shrugged, but looked distinctly uncomfortable, "the curse . . . changes you."

Draco blinked in shock, pure horror flooding him. "Changes you?" he yelped "How?"

"Not all that much, but it does make sure you're willing to do whatever it is they want you to do."

He didn't like the sound of that.

"Surely, there's a way to break it," Draco protested. There had to be. He refused to let his life be ruled by some bloody curse.

"There is," his father admitted.

Draco leaned forward eager to hear how to end the blasted curse.

"But I can not tell you how."

"Why?" Draco demanded. He was determined to break the curse. He would serve no one _forcibly_.

"Because if you are to have any chance at breaking this curse, you can not be told how."

"But that doesn't make any sense!"

"It is a vengeance curse, Draco. You cannot break those purposely, ever. The cursed must fulfil the conditions of the sundering _without_ realizing they're doing so."

"Oh," Draco drawled, disappointed, "it's one of _those_. Only by performing the proper counter without ulterior motive can you break the curse."

"Exactly, and since it's impossible to have no ulterior motive if you _know_ that what you're doing will free us, then it's best you not know."

"Than that means _you_ cannot break us free of this curse."

"Not since you were less than a year old, the year your grandfather died."

"Draco frowned. "How did we end up cursed anyway?"

"Your Great-Grandfather - twelve generations back - Leveis Malfoy decided his family wasn't powerful enough, nor rich enough," his father explained, sneering. "While that may be a worthy thought, he went about correcting that in a very . . . risky manner."

Draco waited not so patiently for his father to continue.

"Did you know that the Weasleys weren't always dirt poor?"

Draco shook his head, surprised by the abrupt topic change. "No," he replied honestly. He'd never given it a single thought.

"In fact, they used to be quite wealthy."

Draco's eyes widened. The Weasel's family used to be rich? Now that concept was enough to gobsmack just about anyone.

"Leveis was just a little older than you when he began courting a young woman by the name of Alphaesia Weasley."

Shuddering, Draco shook his head. A Malfoy dating a _Weasley_? It rather turned his stomach.

"As much as I am loathe to admit it," his father continued, seemingly unaware of Draco's discomfort, "the Weasleys were higher placed in society than the Malfoys of the time - though, not by much - and Leveis believed that marrying into their family would be a step in the right direction. Within four months, he was ready to propose marriage, certain that Alphaesia would say yes."

Still wide eyed, Draco had a horribly sinking sensation in his gut, that his father was going to tell him that he was more closely related to the Weasel than anyone with a true claim to being a pureblood would be forced to do.

"The night before he intended to ask for her hand, Deiter Malovan sought him out

Malovan? A couple hundred years ago, the Malovans were near royalty. They wanted something; it generally got done.

"He asked for . . . an _alliance_."

_Alliance?_ He wondered at his father's phrasing. Considering the odd emphasis the man put on the word, Draco couldn't help but think his father meant something more than a mere alliance, something more . . . sordid.

"What did he want from the alliance?" Draco asked, wanting to know if he was right.

His father arched an eyebrow and sneered.

_Well, that answers that question!_ "Right, thought as much," he replied. "So did he take him up on it?" He hoped so. It would certainly be better than finding out one of his direct ancestors was a _Weasley_!

His father nodded.

"So, what did he get in return?" There had to be something, if the bloke was all set to get married to up his status. If he was any kind of Malfoy, he wouldn't have given that up lightly.

His father smirked. "In return, Malovan supported his rise through the political system. It was thanks to him that the Malfoys are what we are today."

Draco couldn't figure out why this story hadn't been told with all the others that dotted their ancestry. To him, it seemed rather important to their history as a family. Wait a minute. They'd been talking about the curse. Did this have something to do with that?

He refocused on his father, only to find the man was smirking at him. "So how does it all tie together?"

"Alphaesia."

Eyes narrowing, Draco glared. "What did she do?"

"Less than a week after their alliance began, Leveis told her he no longer intended to court her. He did, however, offer to see her in secret. According to his journal, she took it badly. Apparently all of her friends had told her that he didn't care about her, was, in fact, using her to get what he wanted. His father shook his head. "Typical scorned woman," he replied offhand. "She'd believed in him, despite what all her friends had told her. She'd denied the rumors she'd heard that he had . . . 'taken up' with a man, Malovan to be precise. The moment he told her it was all true - the idiot - she swore revenge, told him that if he liked power so much, from that day forth all Malfoys that followed would be forced to follow power, at all costs. She would make sure of it.

"He hadn't believed her, of course. Unfortunately, less than three years later, he met a wizard far more powerful than Malovan and began to feel the effects of the curse."

That was some story, Draco had to admit. But something wasn't quite finished about it . . . aside from the ongoing curse. "So what did he do to her?"

"He ruined them financially. Oh, and counter cursed them, of course."

"Of course."

"For as long as the Malfoy curse remains active, they will never regain what they have lost."

Draco laughed. It was classic. As long the Malfoys were virtually enslaved to power, then the Weasleys would remain dirt poor - definitely poetic justice as far as he was concerned.

"Be all that as it may," his father continued suddenly, "the curse awakens in each Malfoy exactly 16 years from the moment he is born."

"Joy," Draco replied drily, "wonderful birthday present."

Lucius frowned at him, then, but something akin to sympathy actually shined in his eyes. It made Draco feel a little better about the whole thing, anyway.

"Five hours after you begin to feel the effects of the curse, I will take you to meet the dark lord."

Swallowing heavily, Draco nodded. As an academic exercise, knowing he would end up following the dark lord was one thing, suddenly being presented with the reality was something else entirely. He wasn't sure he was ready for it. His 16th birthday was this month.

x-x-xx

Harry didn't want to do this. Only bad things could come of seeing the memories his mother had chosen to leave him. The letter had been bad enough. His magic had gone wild during his sprint from the library. It had, in fact, been his magic that had knocked down the professor, as _he_ had not been anywhere near the man; though, to give Snape at least a little credit, he didn't think the professor realized that. Just as well he didn't, Harry thought, knowing it would lower the man's opinion of him even lower than it already was - if that was even possible.

He pushed that aside, turning his attention to his previous thoughts. Why had she written that letter? It had been more than enough to know that his mother had lost her life protecting him; to know that she had purposely chosen to sacrifice her soul to leave an unheard of layer of protection around him was simply too much. How was he going to explain that to anyone? Did he even want to?

For the most part, no, he decided. He didn't want the pity that knowledge was sure to produce. Unfortunately, to his way of thinking, Remus had a right to know. He'd been her friend all those years ago. He deserved to know just what she'd done, the lengths she had been willing to go to. Maybe he might even agree with Harry that it would have been better left to obscurity just how he had survived Voldemort's attack. Then, maybe, he might not feel so guilty about the anger he was feeling about the whole thing. He was so angry right now, he could almost hate her. And _that_ made him feel even worse. How could anyone who wasn't evil hate someone who had given up so much for them?

"Harry?" the headmaster called quietly.

It was only then, that Harry realized he was letting his magic get away from him again. Wind whipped around them, tearing at clothing and hair alike. He took a deep breath, forcibly calming himself. It helped - a little - at least enough that the wind died down and nothing and no-one got thrown around. For that, he was grateful. He was also grateful for the fact that no-one called him on it. He wasn't sure just how he would react if they did.

"Yes, headmaster?" he asked.

"I would like to ask your permission for Professor Snape to accompany us into the pensieve."

It was all Harry could do to prevent his jaw from hitting the floor, especially after he noticed the professor's startled twitch. Why in all that was holy would he allow _that_?

"It might be helpful to have his perspective," the headmaster added, smiling slightly. "He might catch something we miss."

Closing his eyes against the hopeful look on the headmaster's face, he tried to force out the word no, but couldn't. Some, small, rational part of him knew the headmaster was right, but he couldn't help but think that Snape would do nothing more than scoff and sneer at what his mother had to say, that he would denigrate what his mother had sacrificed as a waste. He really didn't think he could handle that, not right now. Because of that, he couldn't force out a yes, either. Finally, tired of fighting, he simply nodded. It was the best he could offer.

"Thank you, Harry," the headmaster acknowledged, then beckoned him forward.

He went, stopping when he was standing right next to the pensieve, still sitting on the corner of the library table. Snape moved to stand by his left and the headmaster by his right. Closing his eyes, he reached out, letting his fingers touch the surface of the silvery liquid. When he finally opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was his mother. Beside him, Snape gasped and Harry was almost tempted to look at the man. He couldn't tear his eyes from his mother long enough to do so, however.

She was beautiful. He could certainly see why his father had fallen for her.

"Lily," Snape breathed, shocking Harry utterly.

That hadn't sounded like Snape at all. It was enough to force his eyes from her to him. Unfortunately, Snape's expression closed off immediately and Harry was unable to interpret the expression he'd only glimpsed. Shaking it off as unimportant, he returned his gaze to his mother, just in time to see her wave into the mirror she was looking at.

"Hi, Harry," she said softly, smiling. "I feel very strange, sitting here talking to a mirror as if it's you, but that's a little better than talking to thin air, I suppose."

Harry laughed a little at that, his mother's voice tearing at him, preventing him from finding her comments as funny as they might otherwise have been. He wasn't sure he would ever be capable of finding it truly funny.

"To cut a very long story reasonably short," she began, shaking her head sadly. "We've gone into hiding because of a prophecy. It's about He Who Must Not Be Named and the one person who can rid us of him. Albus - Headmaster Dumbledore - isn't certain who it refers to, as there are two who fit the requirements so far. If it turns out it's about you, I'm sure you've long since heard of it."

_Long since?_ Harry scoffed. _No._ But heard of it he had. That prophecy was the reason he not only didn't have parents, but didn't have his godfather either. That prophecy had ruined his life!

"So, I won't go into details about that. What I want to talk to you about, is what we plan to do to help protect you in the event that we can't be there to do it ourselves. We're at war, Harry, and nothing is certain in war. I hope this truly isn't necessary, but I don't want to take the chance this would come upon you without warning."

Harry let out a sound that was half whimper half snort. _Too bad that!_ he silently complained. _How could I have been prepared for **this**? What warning could there possibly be?_

"Your father knows only part of what I'm planning. He isn't happy with it, and has tried to talk me out of it, so I didn't tell him the rest. He might refuse to help if he knew what I'm really going to do."

Harry did whimper then. What else had his mother done? Did his father know about the soul thing? Or was it something else he knew about? He really didn't think he could handle anything else. He really didn't. His instinct was to run, to run far and fast and never have to face this, ever. A gentle hand falling on his shoulder stopped the half formed idea, however. He wouldn't do that, couldn't disappoint the headmaster that badly - despite his mixed up feelings toward the man.

"In my obsession with collecting books, I stumbled across an ancient ritual. When I first found it, I really didn't give it much thought. I was young, and like most kids didn't like to think about death, especially my own. But when I learned of the prophecy, my mind almost automatically thought back to it. You see, Harry, the ritual requires two sacrifices, one of life, one of magic, in order to function."

Harry's mind was completely numb. He could do nothing but listen, not really taking it all in, just . . . storing it all.

His mother breathed deeply, and sighed. "The fidelius we will be hiding under is, of course, our first line of defense. Your father is the second. We have already invoked the first third of the ritual. If _he_ discovers where the three of us are living and attacks, your father will stall them as long as he can. Which will hopefully enable you and I to get away. If not, his death will serve a bigger purpose, it will be the sacrifice of life and will begin the second part of the ritual. If _he_ reaches us, I will be ready. My part in this is to sacrifice my magic. You will become the conduit for it."

Three gasps echoed, letting Harry know he wasn't alone in his shock.

As it passes from me to you, an unseeable shield will form and that will temporarily protect you from _him_. When you grow into your magic, Harry, you will be able to access my magic just as you do your own. You will sense no difference between the two. Please understand, Harry. I had to make sure you survived. It matters not to me whether or not you are the one the prophecy speaks of. My only concern is that you survive."

His mother looked down briefly then, tears filling her eyes. "Once I've completed that portion of the ritual, I will have no defense against him. I highly doubt I will survive that."

_Yes, you would have!_ Harry screamed silently, his own tears sliding down his face. _I **saw** it. He said you didn't have to die. Didn't you trust your own magic?_

"With my willing death, the third part of the ritual will begin - the part I never told your father about. When my soul is released from my body, it will surround you, affording you a protection nearly forgotten by the wizarding world, Harry. It too, is finite in its protection, but will linger far longer than the shield caused by the magical transfer. I don't know how much longer; it truly depends on how . . . persistent _he_ is, and how many times he gains access to you. According to the text, you'll know when the protection is gone, for my soul will manifest itself visibly for a short time before dissipating completely."

Harry sobbed. She really was truly was gone then. He had never wanted to be wrong more in his entire life. Harry wanted nothing so much, right then, as to destroy the two that had come to steal his birthright from him. They had taken his mother from him forever.

"Harry, I love you with everything I am. You are the best creation of my life."

She paused for several moments then, but Harry couldn't look away. He couldn't see her through his tears, but he couldn't look away, either.

"As I said before, nothing is certain in wartime, so I don't know which of the people we've assigned as guardians are looking after you, but I want you to pass on my love to them. Can you do that for me? Your primary guardian is your godfather, Sirius Black. He and Remus Lupin should be taking excellent care of you. Should something befall Sirius, Remus is next in line to assume full guardianship. And if he too has fallen, then - with your father's reluctant agreement - Severus Snape is third in line. "

"What?" Harry yelped, his exclamation sounding right alongside the professor's.

"Please, let Severus know that I forgave him a long time ago. Also, you do have other relatives, Harry. And, if you're willing, I would like you to seek out my sister Petunia. She will probably be a little hostile, but there is a letter in a vault that you will gain access to after you turn 18. Please take it to her, and let her know that, even if we drifted apart because of what I am, I truly loved her."

Harry couldn't respond, even if she had been able to hear him. It was all too much.

"One last thing, Harry," his mother continued, "when you do pass on - surrounded by your great grandchildren - please tell your father that I love him."

With that, the memory faded, and Harry found himself on his knees in the library - not that he could see it very well.

"Well," the headmaster said softly, and Harry's head popped up so fast his neck twinged in violent protest, but the older wizard didn't say anything more, seemingly at a complete loss for words.

Harry understood the sentiment. What did you say after seeing what they just had. He certainly didn't know. Actually, he was certain of only one thing. His life was _never_ going to be the same again. He felt like he'd just lost any remaining innocence he may have managed to retain until now.

End of Episode One  
Episode Two is Titled: Destiny's Control  
Kiristeen ke Alaya  
Feedback: is the ink with which I write! Please review.

I must admit, I'm beginning to wonder if this series is very good at all. :( I've never had such a low turn out. It's really quite depressing.


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